


Fortuna

by GlamorousGamine



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blind Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Caretaking, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Fluff, Force-Sensitive Original Character(s), Grinding, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Masturbation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Season/Series 01, Smut, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22829725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlamorousGamine/pseuds/GlamorousGamine
Summary: An illness brings the Mandalorian and his child to Silla, a blind wandering healer. Her medical skill, her tenderness with the child, and her limited knowledge of the Force lead Mando to hire her as a crew member. The lines between captain and crew member, healer and patient, all blur as they bond with the child and with each other.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 110





	1. The Mountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking to myself, "Does the world need another Mando/FOC fic?" And then I remembered the "Holy shit, two cakes!" comic and the fact that I've devoured every Baby Yoda fic and still I crave more.

When the Mandalorian woke up with a sore throat, his first instinct was to ignore it like always.

His developing paternal instincts swiftly squashed that first instinct. The sore throat did not go away after a meal and a couple of hours, so it wasn't fatigue. As he coughed from the growing itch in his throat and felt his face warm up, he knew that the first priority was to make sure the Child didn't catch anything, followed by getting well as soon as possible.

Din peered into the crate that currently served as the kid's cradle. Nestled among the blankets, he was still fast asleep, one hand outside the covers rising and falling on his chest as he breathed slowly and evenly. Smiling, he resisted the urge to get any closer in his present condition, and returned to the lower level. Opening his med-pack, he groaned when he saw the only medication available was a single dose of painkillers rattling around. He considered swallowing some bacta gel instead, but if there were unintended side effects there'd be no one left to take care of the kid. He wondered if he should save the painkillers for the kid, but dismissed it; it was too high of a dose of too strong a medicine for his  _ ad'ika _ . He sighed and regretted it as it nearly became a cough. His carelessness had left his clan vulnerable to a simple cold, and he should've restocked sooner, but credits and discretion had both been scarce since they'd begun their journey to seek out the Jedi.

He tightened his fists with resolve, but weariness weighed down his limbs. He took the painkiller with water and then set about disinfecting everything on the ship, starting with his own clothes and armor. His limbs felt less tired as the painkiller did its work, but his skin was still warm with sweat. It only got worse as he slipped back into his clothes and armor, but if it meant the Child was safe from his sickness, he'd gladly endure the discomfort.

Weapons were last. He had finished disinfecting them and was about to begin regular maintenance when he heard the Child fussing. " _ Ad'ika _ ," he croaked, hoarser than he anticipated. He grabbed some food and water and returned to the crate, where the Child was sitting up and holding his arms out, cooing with urgency. Din was more than happy to oblige.

"Ahh," the Child whined, pushing at the helmet. Ever since Din had made the adoption vow and revealed his face to the Child, the Child had grown used to him having his helmet off when they were alone.

"Not now  _ ad'ika _ ," Din said, sniffing as his nose stuffed up. "I'm sick and I don't want you to catch it."

The Child stopped pushing at the helmet, but didn't remove his hands entirely. His ears drooped in concern and he tilted his head before leaning against Din's chest. Something about Din's breathing must've been off, because the way the Child's brow furrowed was almost funny for how out of place it was on the face of a baby. The Child straightened and his ears perked as he held up his hands and reached towards his father.

"No!" Din said, startling the Child. "It's too much to ask for something as small as this." The Child's ears drooped once again and he pouted, eyes shining as he whimpered protests. Din sighed, and this time he couldn't stop it from turning into a cough. Once his body settled, he gently took the Child's hands in his own and then held him close as the Child had his breakfast. Once that was done, he continued to hold the Child close to him as he went up to the cockpit to navigate.

His throat wasn't as sore as earlier, so he felt comfortable talking to the Child as usual. "We're gonna need to re-stock on some medical supplies and refuel the ship. We're far from Imperial presence out here so we can go somewhere industrial, but even then, we'd better stick to somewhere that has a lower population density," he said, bringing up the map. The Child relaxed at this familiar routine, bouncing side to side in his embrace, and giving a small cheer as Din unscrewed the ball and handed it to him. He kept giving commentary as he went through each planet. "Too backwater, we won't be able to restock here... terrain is too dangerous and there's a strong criminal presence, so our ship would get scrapped immediately... this one would be perfect if we had enough fuel to get there..." On and on it went, and Din felt a steady fuzz taking over his brain. The next planet he checked, however, gave him pause. "Lisera." He selected it and read through the specs. "Mostly mountains, but they've got a small trade center in this valley that's away from any active volcanoes or earthquake zones," he leaned back into his chair and set the coordinates. "I'd say it's our best bet, what do you think  _ ad'ika _ ?"

"Eh!" the Child agreed.

* * *

"I'm sorry, but we're out of medicine."

It was a mixed blessing that the cold and painkiller dulled his senses, or else Din might've done something truly regrettable right then and there. Instead, he said, "When will you restock?"

"I don't know. None of the other vendors have any stock either," the vendor forced a sympathetic smile. "You arrived at a bad time I'm afraid. A trade dispute higher up in this territory meant certain goods are a lot scarcer, and most of the residents here stocked up in case. Had you arrived one week earlier-"

"It's fine," Din said. It was something out of both of their controls, but that didn't make it any less frustrating. He'd hoped to get everything done in one stop, and the idea of having to spend more credits for fuel just to find medicine was making his stomach churn. At that, a coughing fit surged through him, and he struggled to keep his hold on the Child. The Child, in turn, drummed on his chest in a state of alarm, anxious to do something, anything that would help his father feel better.

The vendor winced at the Mandalorian's current state, then said, "If I may make a suggestion, Mandalorian," she turned her head towards the mountains. "There's a healer, Silla, who lives up in the mountains. She sometimes comes down here to sell some medicine and herbs, but in your circumstances it'd be faster to seek her out."

Din cleared his throat. "How much will it cost?"

The vendor frowned. "I've never been a patient of hers, but I've heard she's generous and willing to barter services. I will caution you however," she dropped her voice low, "I've also heard rumors that she has mystical powers. For a blind woman, even for a regular person, her diagnoses are inhumanly accurate, and they say similar things about how powerful the stuff she brews is."

Din considered this, his free hand cradling his child's head closer to his chest. If this woman was a sorceress, maybe he had a lead on finding the Child's kind. "Has anything bad ever happened to any of her patients?"

The vendor shook her head. "I've witnessed the occasional arguments when she comes down to trade, but otherwise no. It might just be that she's a stranger on this planet, and people talk." Sensing the Mandalorian's next question, the vendor said, "She arrived a few standard months ago on a cargo ship and almost immediately went for the mountains."

A freelancer who likely wanted to stay hidden. Din would have to be on his guard. "Thank you. Where in the mountains does she live?"

"Follow the path and you'll eventually find her. You'll know you're getting close from the smell," the vendor said. "A piece of advice: Under no circumstances are you to stray from the marked path, unless you want to be eaten, lost, or crushed." The vendor glanced up at the sky, where the sun was high enough to cast short shadows on the ground. "If you start now, you should be able to find her before nightfall."

Din nodded his thanks, and turned to start his way up the mountain.

* * *

It was only until the town was out of sight that Din felt the painkiller begin to wear off. He wasn't aware of any pain or discomfort while he was moving, but the moment he stopped to catch his breath, fatigue seized his body and the sweat soaking his clothes felt heavier than his armor. He wished he could set his child down to give his arm a rest, but if they were this far and he still hadn't found the healer, then he couldn't afford to walk any slower. He switched which arm was holding whenever he began to feel tired, but the frequency of his switches was increasing. The Child, normally so curious about every new sight, was unusually subdued, as if sensing his father's distress. Every once in a while Din caught his child raising his hands, only to gently grasp and lightly squeeze them in his own in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

His throat felt parched and hot, but when he took a sip from his canteen he coughed at how scratchy it felt. How bad was it that it would hurt to drink plain water? The Child reached for the canteen, and Din almost gave it to him on reflex before he stopped. He needed to disinfect it first, and he fumbled around his pockets for where he would keep the alcohol wipes, only to come up empty. He wanted to grind his teeth at how stupidly unprepared he was, but that would only worsen his headache. The Child whimpered and a faint rumble came from his belly, so Din put his canteen back and grabbed the bottle of ration bar mush he prepared when they both had to be away from the ship. The Child wrinkled his nose at the familiar smell, but Din didn't have the energy to argue, simply pushing the tip of the bottle at his child's mouth until the infant's hunger won out and he began drinking from the bottle.

The sun was still up, but much closer to the horizon than when Din had first started. He stared at the railings on the mountain path above him, tempted to scale them to save time, but aside from the vendor's stern warning and the wire nets that held back rocks, there was no way he could do it with in his sweating, aching condition. His limbs were burning as he kept climbing and climbing but he still couldn't see any signs of the healer. The vendor had said he'd smell it when he was near, but as the snot dripping from his nose was making that difficult. Every drop that slid down his upper lip seemed to replace his fatigue with sheer rage and frustration, but all he could do was keep climbing, even as the inside of his helmet smelled more and more like raw bantha meat. The child soon fell asleep, and was wrapped in a makeshift carrier from Din's cape.

Din wanted to feel relieved as the sun began to set and the air cooled, but once it was too dark, Din would need to make camp for the night and delay medical treatment, and being exposed to the elements, even in his armor, wouldn't help any. The Child stirred and shivered but didn't wake, and Din found the resolve to walk still a few more steps. How could he protect his son if he was sick like this?

The sun was touching the horizon when Din smelled it, even through the congestion. It was a spicy smell that reminded him of the food the tribe served, and his nose itched at its presence. He picked up the pace and Din could've cried when he saw a light in the distance. Energy rushing to his limbs with the knowledge that his destination was in sight, he found himself in a flat clearing where the healer had set up camp. Past a single light where the path first entered the clearing, there was a large tent. Next to it there was a low line with clothes and a high line with plants, fish, and meat hung to dry. The fireplace wasn't going right now, but a black kettle hung over it.

His body was begging for sleep now that Din had paused, but not yet. He went up to the tent and knocked on the front panel, but nobody answered. "Hello?" he called out in a cracked voice, hoping he was loud enough to be heard but not too loud to wake his child. Still no response. He stepped into the tent and his heart dropped upon seeing it empty. There were shelves of glass bottles and various instruments strewn about, but Din didn't have the energy to focus on those right now. Instead, his eyes turned to the bedding on the floor, and he felt himself floating towards it as he his strength dwindled to nothing. Even if the healer was out, having a comfortable place to sleep after such a long journey would do for the night.

This, of course, was the moment the Child chose to wake up, and Din sighed long and low when those adorable green ears perked up. The Child did not fuss or cry, but turned his head outwards and began reaching for something out there. At this, Din stilled, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. _We're being watched._ Much as it ached to do so, he switched on the thermal tracking. There were no footprints in the tent except the ones he'd made, so he stepped outside. Scanning the ground, he still found nothing. As he remembered how Cara had jumped from above, he barely picked up the sound of wood creaking above the clearing. He whipped his head up towards and got his hand on his blaster, confirming a humanoid heat signature up in the trees. The tightening in his chest triggered another coughing fit, and with the sudden dizziness from his head movement Din struggled to keep his balance. The Child cried as he fell, though he managed to roll so his child did not get crushed underneath.

The figure climbed down from the trees, and after he switched off thermal vision he struggled to keep his eyes open as they approached. They were dressed in white robes and knelt before him. "Can you stand?" a soft, low voice asked. Another coughing fit and he strained to get his legs to straighten, but soon he was leaning on the healer as she led him back into the tent. He set his rifle to the side while she laid him on the bed and gently shushed the Child. "Your guardian needs rest. You can stay with him, but I'll need you to move." The Child barely paid attention to her, clinging to Din's chest with all his might, whimpering in distress.

As the darkness overtook his vision, Din murmured, "Helmet... stays on." Clutching his child's hands to his chest and weakly patting his back, Din's eyelids fell shut and he slipped into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated whether to do this as an OFC or a reader insert but after the healer's backstory got out of hand I decided it wouldn't be immersive to have her as an RI.


	2. The Witch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the story starts to earn its rating. Shoutout to @wannaberiderofrohan for all her help with the lore of Star Wars and for being my sounding board for this story.

If this one insisted on keeping his helmet on, then he was more likely a true Mandalorian than a mercenary simply wearing the shell of one. Silla wondered if instead it might be an urgent need to keep a criminal identity secret, until she knelt down to pick the child off of his guardian and a pendant brushed against her gloved fingertips. The Child cried out and seized the pendant, putting it in their mouth while their other hand clung to their guardian's chest. "Ah, it's yours then." Holding out her hand, she asked, "May I hold it for a short while? I want to know it's shape." When the child's answering noise was full of caution, she added, "You can hold it, and I'll let it go after a few seconds. I can tell that it's important to you." She smiled warmly, and after a moment's hesitation, the child removed the pendant from their mouth and held it out to Silla. Brushing her fingertips on the metal, her smile broadened when she recognized the shape. "A mythosaur skull. So you are a Mandalorian too?" When the child cooed in the affirmative, she let go of the pendant and brushed a hand along their head, feeling the light hair on top of thick, but soft skin, with their ears being the softest of all. "I must say, you are the most adorable Mandalorian I've ever met." The child giggled as she stroked their ears, but soon became distressed again when she held their waist to lift them away from their father.

"Now now, I need to change his shirt for a dry one so he can sleep comfortably tonight," Silla said. The child's weak whine said that letting go was out of the question. "Why don't you sit where his helmet is? I'll be moving him around a lot, and it might come loose. Can you help me make sure it stays on?" She moved her hand to the bottom of the helmet as if to take it off, at which the child gave a high-pitched shriek and launched themself onto the helmet, growling as menacingly as he could but to Silla's ears sounding like a tookit. "That's a start. Can he breathe like that?" The child went silent, slid down so they were laying on the pillow and clinging to the side of the helmet, the sounds they made softer than the earlier growls, but that nonetheless told the healer that they were watching her. Silla smiled. "Wonderful. You're such a good child."

The cape, boots, gloves, and pauldrons were the easiest and removed first, and Silla smiled when she felt the raised sigil on the right pauldron.  _ A mudhorn skull? _ The bandolier and cuirass would be a challenge. She had to dig for the straps both on his shoulders and sides, and to remove them completely, she had to lift his shoulders up while keeping his head and neck steady, no small feat even if the child weren't clinging to his helmet as if both their lives depended on it. She unzipped his armorweave jacket and pulled his arms out of it, and finally reached the damp undershirt. Silla wrinkled her nose at the scent of disinfectant mixed with musk, and remembered her sisters complaining about how dirty "boy clean" was. She managed to move his arms and get them out just as she'd done with the armorweave outer layer, but now she had to slip it over his helmet.

"Can you help me?" she asked the child, moving her hand to the side where they were holding on. The child made a chirp, then got up and shuffled to the top of the helmet, where a slight movement and light pressure told Silla that it would be safe to remove the shirt now. It was a struggle to stretch it over and Silla winced when she heard some threads snap, but they managed to get the undershirt off while keeping the helmet in place. Throughout all of this movement the patient didn't even stir, to both Silla's relief and alarm as she recognized the signs of acute fatigue. He must've been determined to make the climb from the town to her tent, and given how tightly his child clung to him, she had to admire his dedication.

"Good job, thank you," she told the child. The child replied with a happy coo and reached up for the undershirt. "Ah, no, this needs to be cleaned," Silla said, tossing the shirt into her laundry basket. "How about the cape your father carried you here with?" Placing the blanket over the Mandalorian and wrapping the child in his cape, the first order of business was checking her patient's vitals. His skin was cool but the monitor read his temperature as high, so his fever hadn't broken yet, and the sweat was likely from his hike. Otherwise, his signs were within normal limits.

After she wiped down her monitor with disinfectant, Silla grabbed a clean, dry towel and uncovered her patient, gently patting away all the sweat. Now that he'd been stripped of his armor, it allowed her to take him in more clearly. Though people knew of her as the blind healer, that wasn't entirely accurate. She could no longer see the surface details like most others, but she could see the energy, the Force even, that pulsed throughout the universe. She could see the disruptions in people where their bodies held pain and tension, and she could see when their souls were red with malice, no matter how soft their spoken words tried to hide it. Experience had taught her that it was easier to explain her observations using her other refined senses, because if she told others about her special sight, they were more likely to pry into vulnerable areas.

When she had first heard the ship fly overhead, she had finished her chores as quickly as possible and then climbed to her tree stand to observe in case it was a brigand. She was relieved at first to see a weary grey soul wander into her camp, but the bundle he carried made her pause. She had seen children before, and no matter what the state of their souls were in, the colors were intense. Mostly white, but when a child had red in their souls, it was like a firework, as intense as it was impermanent. The intensity of the white in this child's soul, however, was brighter than she had ever seen in any living creature, and it made her cautious. White could mean innocence instead of goodness, and neither of those were the same as harmless, so it wasn't until the Mandalorian had fallen to his knees and she heard the child cry out for his father that she felt it safe to descend.

As she continued moving the towel over her patient, her eyes turned to the beacon of light wrapped up in his father's cape, their hold on the helmet more like a comfort-seeking embrace than a protective cling. Her patient's energy was muted, as expected of someone who was ill, but it was unmistakably white. Even when he had reached for his weapon, no red had tainted his soul, his faded energy instead surging with brightness for a brief moment. There were several disruptions that she noted now, injuries and aches that he'd likely powered through to keep providing for his son, not knowing that he was putting the both of them in long-term jeopardy. As she placed her gloved hand directly onto his skin, the extent of his injuries and neglect became clear, and that was just on his torso. Still, he had a solid foundation, a body that had been trained well and experienced a lot of combat. Perhaps with some persuasion, after he recovered from his illness he could do some maintenance. The Mandalorian groaned and Silla flinched, realizing she'd held her hand to his bare torso far longer than necessary She finished patting him dry and got up, throwing the towel into the basket to join his sweaty shirt, and got a cloth patient robe from her supplies. She slipped his arms through the sleeves, and finally, she covered him back up with the blanket.

"Child," she whispered, "I have another bed for you to sleep in." The child's soul flared with oncoming refusal, so she continued. "You might get sick if you sleep near your father tonight, and your father would be upset if that were to happen."

The child made a noise of reluctant understanding, and Silla wondered how old the child was for them to be so intelligent and yet so quiet. "If you stay healthy, it would make him happy, and he'll get better faster." She knelt down and patted an area a few feet from where the Mandalorian was sleeping. "It would be dangerous to sleep on top of him, but I can put a bed for you here so you can sleep close to him. What do you think?"

The child tilted their head in consideration of this offer, then let go of the helmet, giving it a solemn pat before waddling over to where Silla was kneeling. They opened their mouth to say something, only for their stomach to rumble. Whatever the child wanted to say turned into pained whimpers.

Silla smiled. "Of course I can make you dinner. Food is medicine too, you know."

* * *

The sound of wind and the soft light through his helmet made Din momentarily panic when he woke up, but the smell of spice and cooking food brought back his memory of the day before. The fact that he could even smell at all through his helmet was a relief, though now he was stuck with one nostril that could breathe fine while the other one was completely blocked. He sat up and found his body feeling lighter, his skin no longer a steaming hot prison, and he briefly froze when he saw that his shirt had been changed for a robe that was open at the back. His helmet was still on, and the rest of his clothes and armor were placed neatly at the foot of his bed. And the kid? A basket sat near the pillow, and Din looked inside and found his child sleeping on top of a folded blanket, wrapped in his cape. He reached a hand out to stroke his head but stopped when he saw his bare hands. Not yet.

Now that he had the energy to keep his balance and his eyes open, he got a good look around the tent. Opposite of him and the kid was a hammock with a fur throw inside. Around the perimeter were bags filled with various plants likely harvested from the mountain. In the center of the tent was a firepit that had been dug into the ground, filled with sand, and lined with stone. A large steel pot was boiling above a steady fire, and smaller pots of clay and steel cooked on top of a grill over a separate fire in the corner of the pit. Around the pit was a dense woven wire barrier, and Din blinked. Had that been there yesterday?

At the wall farthest from the door was a hovercraft. Drawers and shelves folded out of it and on the shelves were various glass jars containing what looked like dried herbs, cooking spices, and other medicinal materials. A table was laid out on top of it all, cooking and medical utensils strewn about on faded white cloth. His lip quirked when he noticed a snake submerged in a dark liquid in one of the larger glass bottles. Would it catch the kid’s eye and stomach?

The crunch of footsteps on earth accompanied by the tock tock of a walking stick approached the tent and Silla stepped through the entrance carrying a few bags. She paused, her head first turning towards the Mandalorian, and then towards the basket. “Good morning,” she whispered.

The Mandalorian nodded, then he remembered. “Good morning,” he whispered back.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he said. “Lighter. I can breathe easier but-” As if on cue, his body was shaken with coughs, his ribs straining as he struggled to keep them quiet. His mouth and nose filled with phlegm, and he sucked and swallowed it back in with a grimace.

Silla nodded. “I’m going to prepare breakfast and some other medicines. We can discuss further treatment and payment while you...” She paused, her mouth hanging open as she remembered. “You can eat while I take care of a few things around the campsite, and when you’re done, call for me and we’ll talk.”

“Okay.” With a nod, Silla set her bags down below her hammock and switched her leather gloves for rubber ones. She took some clean towels out of a basket and lifted the smaller pots from the fire pit, then returned to scoop some hot water from the large pot into a small saucepan. She brought everything over to her hovercraft workstation, and soon the tent was filled with the ambient sounds of cooking: pouring liquid, sliding drawers, the clink of metal against glass, and chopping.

While Silla focused on her work, Din’s eyes focused on her, gathering as much detail as he could now that his vision was no longer clouded by fever or fatigue. Loose-fitting pants were tucked into dark leather boots, and over that she wore a long tunic that was tied at waist and had a hood. Her hair was completely wrapped in a scarf that sat tight and high on her head, and a blindfold that covered her eyes and eyebrows tucked into the scarf. Except for the black blindfold, all of the cloth covering her body was light gray. It matched her pale skin, and it was here that Din drifted from observation to guesswork. She looked young, but the quiet confidence in her stance, the way she spoke, and the way she moved reminded him of someone closer to Omera’s age. Right now, he was most impressed with how quickly she chopped the vegetables and flung them into a pot with a flick of her knife. Soon, she was scooping the food into small bowls and laying out two trays, one for him and one for the Child. She brought both of them over to the bed, setting it down near the basket where the Child still slept, while she knelt on the floor.

“I advise you to finish as much as you can. You were suffering from acute fatigue when you collapsed here last night, and everything here is meant to restore your strength and clear your airways as much as possible,” she gestured to the tray. There was meat and vegetable stew that was red with spice, rice porridge, a mug of tea, and a spoonful of dark syrup. “The two things that are non-negotiable are the syrup and the tea. The syrup will taste awful, but it’ll expel the mucus in your lungs and help soothe your throat. That will make it easier to drink the tea, which has a medicine dissolved in it that should help you breathe through both nostrils again.” She brought out a box of tissues and a large metal thermos. “Here’s more water if you need it. What questions or concerns do you have?”

Din eyed the syrup dubiously, vague memories of his illnesses as a foundling and even vaguer memories of his illnesses as a youngling and of the bitter, sickly sweet medicines he had no choice but to take. Surely he could maintain a poker face now, but just to be sure, he asked, “You said they're going to clear my nose and throat?” Silla nodded in response. “How much coughing and sneezing will they trigger?”

The corner of Silla’s mouth quirked upward. “Even outside, I’m going to know if you don’t take the medicine as directed,” she said. She straightened, realizing his concern. “Your child has been sleeping soundly since I put him to bed last night. The tissues can help muffle your cough. That said, do you want me to move him to the other side of the tent so he can continue sleeping?”

Din sighed as he considered it. The viciously protective part of him did not want to be separated from his child more than necessary. The pragmatic part of him said that if the Child woke up while his helmet was off, there was no way he could hold and comfort the kid without potentially infecting him. “Other side of the tent, not under the hammock,” he said. “Just in case.”

If Silla was insulted by the implication, she didn’t show it, instead smiling as she turned to gently pick up the basket and slowly stood from her kneeling position. With steady, fluid steps she brought the basket where Din had requested. Reaching into her tunic, she brought out a metal ball the size of a fist, and Din stiffened as she set it near the child. Then he heard the turn of a mechanical key, and as a soft metallic tune played throughout the tent, his shoulders relaxed. Silla went back to her workstation, rummaged through the drawers, and brought a few towels and a spray bottle back to Din. “I imagine you’ll want to clean your helmet after all that it’s absorbed for the past half day or so. This disinfectant can also be used on your hands before you eat,” she set them down. “You can leave your trash on the tray. What else will you need?”

“You’ve done more than enough,” Din said. “Thank you.”

Silla’s smile this time flashed a small bit of teeth, and he found himself weakly returning one of his own. “I’ll be right outside. Call me if you need anything,” she said. Once she ducked out of the tent, he checked to make sure the cover on his window was secure, and he waited until he heard the sound of carving wood to finally,  _ finally  _ take the helmet off.

Just being able to breathe in fresh air that wasn’t saturated with his own snot was clearing his head already, and first he sprayed as much disinfectant as he felt comfortable with inside his helmet on the more-than-off chance the unexpected happened. Setting it aside, he blew his nose and lightly coughed into a tissue to clear himself as much as possible for what was to come next. After spraying his hands, he picked up the large spoon with the syrup, grimacing at the sickly bittersweet smell of it as he brought it up to his mouth. Before he could psyche himself out any further, he stuck the whole thing in his mouth and swallowed. A burst of bitter cold hit Din’s chest and tongue as his face squashed painfully, and he managed to grab a tissue as a series of violent coughs burst out of his lungs. Over the rattling noise of his own body, he could’ve sworn he heard Silla murmur, “Ah, there it is” with an amused smile in her voice. Then, as the syrup aftertaste lingered on his tongue, he swallowed and found that the scratchiness was all gone. When he took an experimental breath in through his mouth, he found it didn’t trigger a cough either, not even an itch in his throat. Glancing over at the basket, he listened for any signs of the kid stirring, but after a minute of silence, Din sighed and got to work on the rest of his meal.

After the punch of the syrup, the tea was nothing. What bitterness the medicine had was blended with a spicy sweetness and a citrus flavor that reminded him of  _ shig _ . Pouring himself more hot water, he dipped the syrup spoon into the mug to make sure he got all of it, then when he finished that cup he poured another one to wash out the aftertaste. The warmth traveled to his head and chest, and once the tingling hit his nose, he was a lot better prepared for the sneezes that followed. Afterwards, he was able to fully breathe through both nostrils, and with his renewed energy he found himself more ravenous than he expected. He tried to savor the porridge and the stew as the first non-ration meal he’d eaten in ages, but they quickly vanished from their bowls and he poured himself another cup of water to wash it all down.

The sigh Din released this time was one of satisfaction. He soaked one of the towels he’d been given in hot water, using it to scrub his teeth and his face. He was overdue for a shave, but that could wait until he got back to the ship. At the quiet he realized that the music box had stopped playing a while back, and he listened again for any signs that the kid was awake. Still silent.

Well, it was time for breakfast anyway, but before he could wake the kid, he needed to get dressed. Din gently nudged an arm out the tent window, making sure the flap stayed mostly shut. “Silla, could I have my shirt back?” he called out.

“Of course. One moment.” She went away from the tent and he heard the sound of rope twisting and the flutter of fabric, and then Silla came to the window and placed the shirt in his hand.

“Thank you.” It smelled fresh and he sighed at how cool it was when he slipped back on, but he didn’t linger on the feeling as he closed his jacket and got his armor and boots on. After he got his gloves on, he gave his helmet one last wipedown with a damp, still hot towel. A deep breath, filling his clear airways with one last gulp of the mountain air, and Din slipped it back over his head.

He picked up the tray with the kid’s food and went over to the basket. The Child was stirring a bit, bunching up the cape in his hands and chewing on a corner, his eyes still closed as he made some soft smacking noises. Din smiled, reaching in running a finger gently over the kid’s forehead and cheeks, and at that, the Child woke up. “Ah,” he cooed, reaching up to be held, still clutching the cape in his hands. Din happily complied, and the Child patted his helmet and chest, as if sensing his renewed spirits.

“Yeah, I’m better now,” Din said. “Still gonna keep this on even when we’re alone just to be safe, okay?” The kid pouted a bit, but the sight and smell of breakfast brought back his good mood immediately. Din got a bit of porridge into the spoon, but the kid ignored it and grabbed the bowl, gulping it down. He made quick work of the stew too, and all Din had left to do was wipe at the kid’s chin to make sure his clothes didn’t get too dirty. “Slow down, or you’ll choke,” he said

To which his  _ ad’ika _ only gave an indignant “Hrmph!” and tilted the bowl almost upside down to get the last few drops of stew. Another wet towel to wipe down the Child’s face and scrub his teeth, and Din called out to Silla that he was ready for her. He could’ve done so earlier, but he wanted to relish some quiet time with his child a bit more, and he dreaded what the cost of medical treatment including a night’s stay and breakfast would be.

“I heard your purse when I put you to bed last night, and I imagine you’re in financial straits at the moment,” Silla said, not unkindly. “In such cases, the payment I ask is that you help me make my rounds around the mountain this morning. If you wish to stay for lunch, you will accompany me into town while l take care of business there. If you wish to stay another night, I will lead you back up the mountain--I can do it even after sunset--and you will help me with anything that remains.”

Bartering services. Just as the vendor had said. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Silla smiled, then continued, “I mentioned further treatment before breakfast. While your cold should definitely be gone by the end of the day, your body is under a great deal of stress. Without proper rest, you’ll continue to be vulnerable to illness and your recovery times will be longer than if you were healthy. When do you need to leave Lisera?”

Din wanted to say “after the morning rounds”, but he thought about it. He was unlikely to find room, board, and medical care for this kind of a bargain anywhere else that he could reach with his remaining fuel and credits he had left. There wasn’t any significant criminal activity that he’d observed, let alone Imperial presence, and since he kept the kid close to him, he’d be prepared for any rogue bounty hunters. For long term gain, he could afford to stay for a few days. He looked at Silla’s face, an enigmatic smile gracing her lips, and for a moment he felt a chill, as if she could see right through his helmet and into his mind. Was this why the others thought her a witch? He wanted to observe a while longer before he brought up the subject. No need for her to think his kid was anything but his kid.

As if sensing his thoughts, the kid wriggled out of his grasp, waddling towards the music box and giving it a light teething before holding it out to Silla. Her smile warmed as she wound it up again, and the Child squealed with delight before resuming his gnawing.

“Your child was such a good assistant, holding onto your helmet to make sure it didn’t come off last night,” Silla said. “You should feel proud.” The child stopped gnawing for a bit and glanced up at Din, ears perked.

“Yeah, I do,” he said, patting the kid’s head and earning a happy coo. “I’ll see how I feel after this morning.”

Silla nodded and then stood. “First order of business then,” she said. “Get some hot water from that big pot and clean these dishes.”

* * *

The morning in the mountains felt as much like meditation as it did work. Din was reminded of those precious few weeks he’d spent on Sorgan as they hiked through the mountains, Silla bringing a wheeled cooler that had a tray on top for her to set some cloth bags. She wore her hood up to block the sun and had a multi-purpose shovel strapped to her back.

Silla had given him a bag padded with a small blanket so that he could carry the kid over his chest, but every time they stopped to forage for food the Child insisted on jumping out to help and explore. On one occasion Silla had stopped him from picking up a poisonous mushroom, and Din couldn’t help but ask, “How could you tell?”

Silla smiled. “I know where they grow,” she said, “and how they smell.” She then plucked a few blades of grass and folded them together to make throwing stars, and presented them to the child, tossing one in the air to demonstrate. The Child’s happy peals echoed throughout the mountain and it was all but impossible to get him back in the bag after that. He threw the stars on the path ahead and then dashed to retrieve them. Keeping up with the Child as he continued this cycle still let them make their way through the mountain at a steady pace.

After what happened with the mushrooms, however, Din picked up on something, and he walked closer to Silla to silently confirm it. Whenever she came to the next plant to harvest, he could see her turn her head first, then she would sniff to confirm her findings before she touched the plant. As they approached a riverbank, he could see some apples growing on the trees far overhead, and when he looked at her, he could see her craning her head as if to look at them too.

Once they were underneath one of the trees, Silla said, “I usually climb up there to harvest those, but I’ve already gotten the lower hanging ones and it’s becoming increasingly difficult.” She turned towards him. “Do you have anything with you that could get them down?”

Din shot his whipcord at one of the apples, only for it to go straight through, and the broken pieces fell to the ground with a soft splat. Silla smiled with a sigh. “Maybe that can make it easier for you to climb up there, but it’s not necessary.”

The Child had paused ahead on the trail, seeing that Dad and Soft One had stopped. Gathering his stars he shuffled back to where they were standing, and he looked up to see what they were looking at. Ah! He knew the round sweets that hung above them, and it sounded like Father and Soft One were confused about how to get them. He held his hands up, seeing where the sweets clung to the tree.  _ To me! To me! _

The branches above rustled and Silla’s mouth dropped as an apple fell, and she held out her hands to catch it. “That was… very lucky,” she said in a mystified voice. Turning towards the Child, she scooped him up in her arms. “Did you do this?” she asked, holding the apple to his mouth. The Child dropped the stars to grab the apple, then cried out for his fallen stars. Silla laughed and picked them up, tucking them into a fold in his hood. “Can you do that again?”

“I don’t think-” Din said, the Child held up a hand and this time an apple fell for his father to catch. It was one of the easiest things he’d ever done, since all he had to do was give a little twist and the fruit would fall on its own.

Din watched Silla closely for her reaction. Her smile looked genuine, but when she spoke next, her trembling voice betrayed her. “You really are such a precious one aren’t you?”

They were deep in the woods and likely had privacy, but Din did a quick scan of the area just in case. Once he confirmed they were alone, he said, “Silla, how much can you see with your eyes?”

She went still, then turned towards Din. “What do you mean?”

Din shared his observations with her, how her body language seemed to use sight first before her other senses, and how quickly she’d drawn the conclusion that it was the kid who’d made the apple fall. “I’ve never met a blind person who moves as you do,” he concluded.

“Hm. Makes me wonder how many blind people you’ve met,” Silla said, lightly bouncing the Child in her arms as the air grew tense. “I will say, you’ve made your observations a lot more politely than most.” She brought up her hand to run them across the black blindfold. “I don’t see in as much detail as most others,” she explained. “I mostly can see the shapes of things. As for how I concluded that your Child got that apple,” she took a deep breath and faced him, and he could see her internally calculating if it was worth the risk to tell him. Another deep breath, and she continued, “I can see the energy present in all living things, and sometimes in the non-living, though that’s more restricted. There are some who call this energy the Force.” She went on to list a few of the colors she could see and what they meant, and then she addressed the apple. “For a moment, the Force in the tree seemed to have sparked as a thread in a brilliant white like your Child’s tied itself to one of the apple stems. I couldn’t believe it, so I asked him to do it again, thinking I just imagined it. But that same thread and spark happened again, and this time I could see the way it came from his body.” She sighed, then smiled at the Child. “You, I must say, have the honors of being the most adorable Mandalorian and the most adorable Force-user I’ve ever met.” The Child’s ears wiggled at the praise.

“Can you teach him?” Din said with urgency. “I’ve been searching for a Jedi who can-”

“I’m no Jedi,” Silla interrupted, “and I’m afraid my use of the Force is limited.” She reached up to touch the blindfold again. “I wasn’t born this way, but after an… accident with a more powerful Force user, I wound up with this form of sight in exchange for the normal kind.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I cannot be the one to teach this child.”

Din wasn’t as disappointed by the news as he thought he’d be. It was the strongest lead he’d had in a while. “Even so, I could use someone like you as my crew,” he offered. Silla’s spine straightened in surprise, and she stopped bouncing the child. “I need someone to look after him while I run jobs, and with you could make sure we--especially him--stay healthy.” Her mouth had dropped open again and she remained silent. “The pay is… sporadic, but I can give you a cut of every job, and you’d have food and shelter.”

The silence stretched on and Din found himself wishing he could see her eyes to get more information of how she was feeling, and then he wondered if she could see his embarrassment and desperation. Her mouth snapped shut and she said in an even tone, “You’ve had to leave your son alone in your ship?”

He couldn’t stop himself from ducking his head. “I take him with me when I can, but most of the time it’s too dangerous,” he said. “The Empire is after him for what he can do, and it’s usually a choice between which one means he’s safer with.”

Her jaw tightened and Din braced himself for a more scolding of his parenting, but then Silla nodded. “Yes, yes I would gladly join your crew. I’ve seen-” she stopped, then hugged the Child close to her. “If the Empire is after him, then you must keep moving?”

“Yes.” As much as he’d like to stay in the mountain, it would be better if he could have a healer travel with them. It also meant he'd have to pay less to dock at Lisera’s spaceport.

“Could we leave tomorrow? I want to forage one last time on a different part of the mountain, so we can stock up.”

“Yes,” Din answered, and her face finally relaxed into a small smile.

* * *

With the Child’s help, they gathered enough apples to fill a small bag, and soon after the Child nodded off from the most practice he’d gotten in a while. Just as well, because when they got close to the net that had been set up near the river bank, Din saw a buffet of amphibious and aquatic life that would’ve sent the kid into a feeding frenzy. Silla opened the cooler to reveal it was filled with water in three separate compartments, and the two of them gathered enough crayfish, crab, and fish to fill all compartments to half capacity each. Din reached down to seize a frog that fit in his palm, and when Silla saw, she said, “Oh, they don’t eat those here.”

“No, but he likes eating these raw,” he said, gesturing to the baby sleeping on his chest.

The corner of Silla’s mouth twitched. “I wouldn’t recommend it,” she said. “Unless he has an incredibly strong immune system, raw animals often contain parasites.” Din went frozen with dawning horror, and she continued, “If it’s any consolation, I don’t see any Force signatures of other lifeforms in his body. She glanced in the cooler. There weren’t any compartments remaining, but she grabbed a cloth bag and went to the shore. Finding a small, flat piece of driftwood floating in the water, she placed it inside the bag, then soaked the bag in water. “We can put the frogs in here, then put this bag in the same compartment as the fish. Once we get back to camp, we can cook them.” He admired her cleverness, and though the frogs burrowed deeper into the mud as the sun rose higher, they caught enough for a decent snack. They both dismantled the river net, and began the trip down the mountain.

Despite their greater burdens, the trip down the mountain was easier and their footsteps felt lighter than it had been the way up. Perhaps it was the figurative weight off their shoulders now that she knew about the Child and he knew about the source of her “mystic” eyes. Once they returned to camp, Silla retrieved the bag of frogs, removed the piece of wood, rinsed the bag with hot water from the center pot until the frogs inside stopped moving, then threw the frogs into a smaller pot filled with boiling water. She then separated some of everything else they’d gathered into bags and water-filled jars inside the tent. When Din noticed she left all the crabs and crayfish in the cooler, he asked about it.

“I’m allergic to shellfish,” she explained. “Would you like some later?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.” So she prepared a water jar just for the shellfish.

She loaded the bags with what remained onto the hovercraft shelves, then with a click of a button, everything folded back into the hovercraft as it came to life. By now, the frogs were done, so she scooped them back into their bag and gave it to Din. She showed Din where and how to secure the cooler, and they settled in as the hovercraft went the rest of the way to town. There was a red scanner in front that allowed it to self-drive, and once again, now that Din was still did he realize how much physical exertion he’d been doing. They were content to sit in silence, enjoying the ambient sounds and sights, surface or deeper, of the mountains.

As the town came back into view, the Child woke up, smacking his lips. When Din opened the bag to show the Child the boiled frogs, the Child responded with bulging eyes, high-pitched squeals, and clapping hands before he seized one and shoved it into his mouth. At the sound of him gulping it down whole, Silla laughed, and the Child giggled in return before shoving another one into his mouth. He made quick work of all the frogs, moping as he shook the bag upside down to no avail. He began to whimper and fidget in Din’s arms, and Din murmured apologies that those were all that they could find. Still the Child whimpered, and soon began to softly cry.

Silla spoke up. “He’s not hungry, he’s gassy,” she said. Din picked him up and patted his back, but still the Child continued to cry. “Here, let me try.” Din handed the Child over, and after a bit of bouncing, Silla struck his child’s back with a soft thud.

“HEY!” Din shouted, lunging for his son, only to stop when the Child belched loudly enough to echo. With a sigh, the Child nuzzled into Silla’s shoulder, peering over at his father with some concern.

“You do a firm strike with the heel of your palm right here,” she turned to gesture to a place off center left below his shoulders. “Children are tough, but I can understand your concern.” She handed the Child back to Din, who lightly placed the heel of his palm where she’d shown him. The Child turned and held his hand, patting it in reassurance.

“Sorry I yelled.”

“Don’t worry. It’s a parent’s prerogative to worry about their child.”

* * *

Once the townsfolk found out that Silla was leaving Lisera tomorrow, they gave her well wishes and gifts to send her off, to the point where they soon gathered enough food gifts to take care of lunch. The harvest she brought with her sold out quickly, and soon all that was left was the bottle of what Din learned was snake wine. She brought it to a Sullustan technician at the spaceport where the _Razor Crest_ was docked, and while she worked that out Din went to the Razor Crest so he could eat lunch and both he and his son could use the refresher. When they returned, Din caught the end of their conversation.

“-dy for you when you arrive tomorrow.”

“Thank you Jae,” Silla said. “Hope you and Hiung enjoy the wine.” She turned towards Din and smiled. “That’s everything! Shall we head back?”

“Yeah,” Din answered. “We should start preparing as soon as possible.”

“A Mandalorian huh? So you’re the one taking our witch away from us, and after we were all startin’ to get to be friends with her,” Jae said with a laugh. “You take care of her huh?”

“Yeah,” Din nodded. “I will.” As they left on the hovercraft and went back towards the mountain, Din asked, “What was that about?”

“Oh! Since I thought you’d be gone for awhile, in lieu of his usual payment, I asked Jae to run some diagnostics on this-” she patted the hovercraft, “right here, and he threw in an offer to craft some simple medical tools to make my new job easier.” She opened one of the food gift containers and found herself with a box of spicy noodles. “Ah, Mala knows these are my favorite.” The sound of slurping and chewing filled the air until the town was once again out of sight, and Silla sighed and sat back in satisfaction, her face red from the spice.

Din reached out to touch her face, and Silla stilled. “Wha-”

“You had some sauce on your cheek,” he said, wiping at it with his thumb.

“Ah, thank you,” she said, and her face turned redder where he’d touched her.

They rested for a bit when they got back to camp, and as the sun set, Silla set out a clay pot of rice to cook and then began packing away as much as she could while Din prepared dinner. The Child first resumed the throw-and-chase of his grass stars, but soon grew bored and climbed onto his father’s shoulder to watch him work. It had been a while since he’d cooked over an open flame, but as long as he paid attention to the food instead of the fire he was fine. In addition to a pot of soup he was making for all of them, he cleaned and stir fried the crab and crawfish for himself and cooked the fish in a separate skillet for Silla, tossing both of them with some vegetables. Silla came over to add some of the dried meat to the soup, then sighed at the smell of sizzling shellfish.

“Crab and shrimp used to be my favorite foods, but after I reached adulthood I suddenly developed an allergy,” she said with a laugh, rolling up the clotheslines. “I used to beg my family to let me have just a small bite but they refused.”

“I won’t be breaking tradition then,” he said, and she laughed again. She’d taken care of everything that was outside the tent, and he told her that dinner would be ready soon. Soon, the soup had simmered long enough, the meat was the right texture, and the rice was steaming and fluffy. He portioned out some of each dish for tomorrow’s breakfast, placing them inside the now dry and empty cooler. When he finished making the dinner trays, Silla took hers and stepped towards the entrance of the tent.

“I’ll go,” Din said, getting up with his plate and the Child’s, but Silla shook her head.

“You’re my guest for now, and I don’t want either you or son to be exposed to the cold,” she said. “Besides, I imagine after I fed him dinner yesterday while you were sleeping, the two of you might want to catch up.”

“I’m wearing armor, and he’s-”

Silla held up a hand and set down her tray. Walking over to her hammock, she pulled out the fur throw, which Din could now recognize as a wolf pelt. Wrapping it around her shoulders, Silla retrieved her tray. “As your host and healer, I insist that you eat inside,” she said. Without waiting for his response, she turned and left the tent.

* * *

He hadn’t been as hungry as he’d been for lunch, though the Child took his portions with his usual gusto. Hesitatingly, Din brushed a bit of the crawfish against his _ad’ika’s_ cheek and waited for a reaction. Nothing happened, but he decided to wait at least another day just in case. He’d have to ask Silla if she had the equipment and knowledge to run some tests. The thought of his kid having an allergic reaction, of hives and difficulty breathing, made him shudder. He was snapped out of his morbid thoughts when the Child reached up to pat his face, then reached for the shrimp. “Not yet, _ad’ika_. I’m not sure it’s safe yet. If it is, we’ll get you some more, okay?” His son pouted a bit, but didn’t protest. Once they’d finished dinner and brushed their teeth, Din got the helmet back on and called in Silla.

The dishes were cleaned and packed away in the hovercraft along with a few remaining bags, and the tent felt a lot larger to Din now that the only things left unpacked were the beds, the large water pot, the cooler, a basket of towels, and a bag of medical supplies. The Child settled into the basket-crib with Din’s cape as his blanket, and with a turn of the music box, he was soon fast asleep.

Silla smiled one of her warm smiles as she kneeled and peered into the basket, and Din wondered the Child looked like through her eyes. She’d said his soul was a brilliant white, but what did that look like when the Child was at peace, well fed, and happy? She then turned towards him, and Din felt her eyes scanning him.

“Were you caught in an explosion recently, or a similar sort of accident?” she asked. When Din answered in the affirmative, she explained, “I’ve noticed several disruptions in your energy along your neck, shoulders, and back. The most critical damage has been healed, but what remains can become an aggravating problem if left untreated. I can start now if you’d like.”

There was likely a reason she’d waited until the child was asleep to bring this up. “What kind of treatment?”

She retrieved the bag and brought out what looked like four pads hooked up to a small radio, along with a metal tray filled with smooth, flat stones the size of her palm. “I can loosen your muscles first with a small electric current, and then do a manual adjustment. I’ll need to apply the pads to bare skin in order for the current to do its job properly, but if you’d rather not, I can do the manual adjustment as long as your armor is removed.”

He had to admire how she was able to say it with such a neutral expression and tone of voice, as if oblivious to the implications or, more likely, aware of the implications but experienced enough for it to not phase her. “So it’s massage therapy.”

“A little more intense,” she said. “Like with the medicine this morning, noise is expected, and in case your helmet has a setting to turn the mic off, I’d rather you didn’t, because if I hit a particularly painful spot, I’d rather know. If you’re in pain and tense up, that works against the treatment. However, it’s all up to you.” She set everything down and folded her hands in her lap.

Din considered it. She’d already undressed him once, the only difference was that this time he’d be conscious of it. The electric current seemed a bit suspicious, but in the unlikely (and it was highly unlikely, given how the kid approved of her) event that she tried something funny, he’d still have his blaster at his hip. “We can do it with the current. Give me a moment.” Silla nodded and closed the tray with the stones, latching it shut. Just like this morning, she gently picked up the Child in his basket and set it on the metal tray, then lifted them both and brought him over to the other side of the tent, out of the shadow of her hammock. She dropped the tray into the large metal pot in the center fire, then stirred the pot and stoked the flame while Din undressed. At some point, satisfied with the fire, she returned to the basket-crib to check on the Child, that smile returning to her face, and she reset the music box. She grabbed the pillow from her hammock and returned to the fire pit, sat facing away from Din, and then simply waited.

He finally got his undershirt off and he told her he was ready. She placed her pillow next to his in an inverted V-shape, and said, “On your stomach. I’ll do your back first.” He did so, and she adjusted the pillows so he could lie face down comfortably. His vision cut off, all he could focus on was the activity of her hands as she applied the pads to his back in a 2x2 grid. She switched on the machine, and the feeling of the electrical current going through him made him shiver. “I’m going to turn up the intensity. Let me know when to stop by raising your left hand.” He heard her turning a knob, and the tingling in near his left shoulder grew until it felt like someone was squeezing the muscle, at which point he raised his left hand. She repeated the process for all four pads, and Din couldn’t help but sigh at the surges that ran through him, squeezing and then relaxing his muscles like… like… 

“We’ll let that do its job for 10 minutes,” Silla said. She got out two towels and laid them over the pads, then stood and went back to the fire pit. He heard her slip on gloves and get the metal tray out of the pot, then she returned to his beside and he groaned as he felt the heat on top of towels, making the electric pulses feel even stronger as they both melted him. He barely registered her “Let me know if it’s too hot” as she covered him with the blanket, and for what feels like an eternity Din just shut his eyes as what feels like years of stress dissolved away with each electric pulse under the heat. He lost track of Silla’s footsteps, but at some point the music box stopped playing and he heard it wind up again.

The electric current stopped and Din shivered as Silla removed all the layers and pads, only to sigh when he felt one of the hot stones digging into his back. He groaned as she pressed it into him, hissed as the pain seemed to build as she dug into a pressure point, only for something to give an audible pop and he released a breath at the same time as she did. “There we go,” she murmured, a pleasant tingling sensation radiating throughout his back while she moved on to make another part of his body feel sour. When the stones had cooled down and it felt like his back muscles had been tenderized, he felt her hands on him. She pressed lightly, but everywhere she pressed made sent a small jolt through him, and he wondered if it was a lingering effect of the electric pads. In particular, when she pressed her hands into his lower back, he felt something travel up his spine to the base of his neck, and he swallowed a lump in his throat.

She asked him to flip over, and the whole process repeated on his chest. Now that Din was facing up, she took back her own pillow. The electric pulses went for longer as she needed time to reheat the stones and metal tray, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. Everything went about the same until it came time to apply the hot stones directly to him. Face up, he could see her sitting at the head of the bed, and when she leaned over, her chest hovered right above his face.

Din was now truly grateful for the Creed and how she respected it, because the only thing that would’ve made this silent torture worse was if she could see the expression on his face. The fact that she’d cured his cold this morning now felt like a curse as he could breathe in her scent with her so close to him, something that smelled like almost over-ripe fruit and steam. His eyes drifted to where he could see a shadow of a nipple poking through her robes and he clenched his teeth. He closed his eyes to rid himself of the temptation, but with that image in his mind, all he could focus on was the heat of her hands travelling and digging into the vulnerable parts of him, taking his pain and replacing it with a warmth that slowly pooled lower and lower. He could mask his groans as the result of the pressure from the stones, but he felt himself growing hard. This time when she set aside the stones and pressed her hands to him, every single touch seemed to send that electric jolt from straight to the base of his skull and then back down. He wasn’t aware of how much he was sweating until Silla shifted to the side of the bed and made small patting motions all over his torso with a dry towel. At that point, Din decided he would risk opening his eyes.

Her expression was neutral while Din focused on keeping his breathing steady. If she said anything about his breathing patterns, he could easily say he was making sure the cold wasn’t returning. She set aside the towel and reached for his undershirt, but paused. Her head turned towards Din, her brows furrowed in concern, and a frown on her face. The tent was silent save for his breathing, and then her brow relaxed and her lips parted a fraction of an inch.

Then Silla leaned down, close enough that he could feel her breath next to his ear, and whispered, “Just so you know, _that_ is a completely normal physical response.” Din continued to focus on his breathing as if the denial made it more likely she meant something else. “While this-” she held up his shirt, “-is still off and your son sleeps, do you want me to take care of that?”

Din’s breathing stopped, and he wondered for a moment if he’d been poisoned and was hallucinating. That would explain why his throat suddenly felt tight. “You don’t-” he stammered. “You’re not-”

Silla’s mouth quirked into a cheeky smile. “There’s a euphemism where I grew up for whores,” she murmured, dark honey dripping into her voice. “Intimate healers. We were taught that for many, sex is as important as food, water, and sleep.” She gently lay herself next to him on the bed, and the hand that had been resting on his shoulder drifted downward. “Considering all the stress and anxiety that surrounds it… and you have been under so much stress already. I would gladly help you with it.” She paused at his stomach, tracing light circles that made his insides twist with heat. “If it’s payment you’re worried about,” she continued, fingers dancing tantalizingly close along his belt, “I’d say after all you’ve given me, you’ve more than earned it.” He seized her hand, squeezing it tightly in his own, holding it just above his belt. He could feel how soft it was, and he loosened his hold only slightly when she gave a small grunt of pain. Slowly, he steadied his breathing and he turned to look at her face. The way her mouth was parted promised warmth and comfort, and when his gaze drifted downward to see her breasts pressing into his side, he groaned before he could stop himself. “One word, yes or no, Mandalorian, and I will respect it,” she said, voice low and breathy.

He wanted, ached to give in, but the tremors in his limbs and the sight of her teeth in that small smile she was giving terrified him. If he gave in to what he wanted, he felt that this woman, this healer, would devour him with her devotion. That he felt scared at all filled him with self-loathing, and soon his mind was locked in a downward spiral. He kept a tight grip on her hand as he pulled it up, where he pressed it against his chest and relished the feel of it for just a while longer. A few more deep breaths, and he croaked, “No.”

And just like that, she lifted herself up, pulling her hand out of his grasp. She handed him his undershirt, and left his side, and while he got the undershirt over his helmet, he glanced over at the basket in case the kid had woken, relieved to hear only silence. He started when Silla appeared again at his side, which in turn caused her to flinch, but she simply handed him a cup of a sweet smelling beverage with a straw sticking out of it. “This tea should help you sleep tonight,” she said, the smile on her face small and tight. “Goodnight Mandalorian.” She rubbed the hand he’d gripped and returned to her hammock. Once she adjusted her bedding and zipped herself inside, silence filled the tent once more.

Din sipped the tea to the last drop and settled back on the bed, breathing deeply and forcing his eyes closed, but it was no use. His mind kept going back to how Silla pressed herself against him. _One word, just one word_. He tried to simply let the thoughts flow through him, but his body grew unbearably hot, and as he clenched his hand at the sense memories flooded, he knew he couldn’t hold out any longer.

Switching the mic in his helmet to off and grabbing a towel, he slipped off a glove and undid his pants, and shoved his hand inside, hissing at the sweet relief as he found himself as hard as a rock. He rubbed his thumb at the tip, pre-cum dripping into his hand that let him slip it over the rest of his length. He sighed as he squeezed up and down his length and he felt the calluses on his hands Silla’s hands were soft so soft _suppose that she were the one doing this right now. She’d lick her lips and let out those breathy moans while she ran her hands up and down his dick, slipping her tunic off her shoulders to reveal those breasts-_ Din gasped at where his mind was going but he was lost to his own fantasy, pumping faster, his hand catching the tip with each stroke as if- _she the tip in her mouth no it was too much she’d been kind too kind and generous with him but she pressed her breasts around the rest of him and how could he refuse_ . He imagined untangling her hair out of the scarf she wore, imagined that it was as pale as her skin as it flowed down and then _he pulled at it then pushed her head down, made her take all of him, and she gasped and gagged around him but soon started moaning and he could hear her saying “Mndhh! Mndhh!” He let go of her head and she sucked hard on the tip, pressing her tongue at the spot that made his head spin. “Mando,” she gasped, a trail of spit going from his dick to her mouth. A smile spread over her face._

_“Din…”_

The burst of heat slammed into him and he gasped as he came, thick white ropes splattering onto his belly and the towel. He kept stroking for as much as he could, but the fantasy image began to fade along with the body heat. Before long, his head cleared, and he could feel his breathing return to normal. He absent-mindedly wiped himself off with the towel, thinking for a moment that he should toss it in the fire when he was done, before deciding on the less stupid idea of just hiding it on his person. Once done, his arm hung limply at his side. Din sighed at how his body felt like his own again, and he closed his eyes to welcome sleep.

In the dead silence of the tent, Din’s heart just about stopped when he heard Silla sigh and groan, and it didn’t start beating again until he heard the faint snoring that followed. He was beginning to regret offering her a place in his crew, but to rescind his offer after all the preparation and packing they’d done would be an act of complete cowardice.

Maybe once they were on the ship and some time had passed things would cool down, but even as Din considered such a chain of events, his instincts warned him that a professional relationship was not going to make this any easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First time I've ever written a fanfic chapter that had a five-digit word count. 11k+ words of caretaking and domesticity building up to an almost handjob and masturbation.
> 
> Feel free to comment any guesses on what Silla’s backstory is. Once the reveal comes, if you got something specific enough right, you can request a prompt. Like all fanfic writers, I also love comments in general. They sustain me like water, food, sleep, and… you get the idea.
> 
> To get an idea of what the world looks like from Silla’s POV, I recommend watching the 2019 Dororo anime. Mandalorian fans might enjoy the Badass and Child dynamic between the two leads, though in this case the Badass can be the more child-like of the two.
> 
> A Canadian friend introduced my ignorant American self to Buckley's ("It Tastes Awful. And It Works.") and NeoCitran Ultra Strength, thus inspiring the non-negotiable concoctions that Silla feeds Din.


	3. Strain

Silla sighed as she stood underneath the waterfall. The rushing sound of the water soothed her almost as much as the massage on her head and shoulders did. After the work done yesterday and this morning, arriving at the falls near the peak was a welcome respite. Her hair, unbound from its scarf, pooled at her waist where the water’s surface was, swirling into gentle spirals.

She’d woken up that morning and judged from the subdued wildlife sound and the cool air that the sun had not fully risen. The Mandalorian and his child were still asleep, so she’d gone off alone, taking her share of breakfast with her. After the events of last night, she imagined the Mandalorian would want to be around her as little as possible.

Silla reached out to make sure the robe she hung up was still in place, then she took a deep breath and sank underwater, letting the sound of the river fill her ears as her lungs heated up. Depending on how his work went, she likely wouldn’t be able to bathe like this for a long time, and had to savor it while she could. The way her hearing was blunted reminded her how last night, she’d plugged her ears with wool when she went to bed. The Mandalorian’s energy was running wild even as he refused her, but she honored his autonomy and her promise and left him with only a cup of tea. It clearly hadn’t worked, and even under water Silla could feel her cheeks flush as she remembered how the sound of skin slapping skin had gotten through her ear plugs.

The burning pressure in her lungs prompted her to resurface, and the sound of wind and other forest animals came back to her in spurts as she emptied the water from her ears and gasped for breath. Between the memories of what she’d seen and heard last night and the heat in her chest, her hands wandered to her breast and between her legs.

Would it have been good if he’d said “Yes”? She wanted to think it would have. It was always better when it was a client she liked, and seeing both the state of his soul and his behavior made her like him a lot. She tried to remember how he’d felt bare beneath her palms, but her own skin and flesh remained cold to her touch, and the movement of her hands felt heavy and mechanical. Sighing, Silla gave up. Her body and mind were out of sync with each other, and there was no point in forcing something when she was likely to be interrupted before she climaxed.

The warmer air and the noisier animals meant it was time to wrap up her bath. She climbed out of the water onto a large stone where her towel and clothes lay. Grabbing her comb, she ran it through her hair, letting the water drip back into the river. Once her hair was damp rather than dripping wet, she poured some oil in her hands and coated her comb in it, running it again through her hair, now drying quickly as the wind swept through.

Pinning her hair so it stayed off her face, Silla opened a jar of and smeared the cold paste within over her closed eyes. While that dried, she braided her hair, her swollen and wrinkled fingertips nonetheless moving quickly as the hair that went past her knees became a crown on her head. By now the paste on her eyes had dried into a gum that was flexible, but strong enough to keep her eyes shut. She put in her hair pins, tied her blindfold around her head, and wrapped her scarf around her hair, and once she pulled the knots, she shook her head to make sure it was all secure.

Satisfied, Silla poured some more oil into her hands to rub all over her body. A few sparks shot through her when her hands rubbed over her nipples, but they weren’t enough for her to try again, not when she was trying to get dry and dressed as soon as possible. Once she went back on autopilot, she was soon fully dressed with her robe tied, her boots laced, and her shovel across her shoulders with a basket hanging from each end and another strapped to her back.

Hiking back towards camp, she had barely gotten a few dozen yards from the waterfall when the Force signatures of the Mandalorian and child brightened up her vision. “Good morning, Mandalorian!” she shouted. “And you, Child!” She smiled wider at the Child’s answering cheer. She dashed down the mountain to meet them, seeing them pick up their pace as well. The way the child waddled as fast as he could just struck her as simply adorable. Once she’d caught her breath, she said, “I’m done with my last round here.”

“I see,” was all he said in response.

The curtness barely stung, but Silla could see that there was no anger, just caution. She slipped into the tone she’d taken with him all the way up until she’d crossed a line. “There’s a waterfall basin up ahead for you two to bathe in. I can take these back down while you-”

“That won’t be necessary, we have a sonic on the ship,” he said, and he circled around to one of the baskets on her makeshift yoke. “Here, let me carry this down for you.” Silla opened her mouth to protest, but he continued. “Your treatment was effective. This is the least I can do.”

She didn’t say anything or fight as he took the yoke from her shoulders and set it across his, and it was only once they continued their descent down the mountain, this time with the Mandalorian leading, that she said, “Thank you.”

* * *

It didn’t take long for the Child to notice that Dad had two baskets and Soft One had one basket, but that he had no baskets and he cried out at the unfairness of it all.

Din and Silla stopped when the kid cried out and then stomped over to reach up for one of the baskets Din carried.

“No,” he said, lifting the shovel up higher. “It’s too big and heavy.” The Child pouted and Din sighed. “Don’t give me that look, and don’t try to use _that_ either. There’s no way you’ll be able to hold it all the way back to camp.”

The child clearly disagreed as he held out a hand and Din felt the balance shift. His hands clamped down on both baskets as he tried to readjust, but was caught in a tug of war with his son. “ _Ad’ika_ ,” he raised his voice. “I said no.” The Child whined at hearing his father’s voice sharpen, and then he plonked down onto the ground and sulked, refusing to budge any further even as the adults made a few more steps down the mountain.

Din and Silla stopped and turned to face one another for a moment, then back towards the Child. “I might have something for him to carry,” Silla said, “if that’s alright with you.”

“Sure.”

Din sighed again and while he readjusted his baskets without interference, Silla took her own basket and rummaged through it. Pulling out a small sack of medicinal herbs with a sharp taste and smell, she re-tied the knot more securely and stepped towards the sullen child. “Could you help me carry this?”

The child’s ears perked and he reached out and took the sack. As he squeezed it to his body, his nose wrinkled at the smell, but he got up and rejoined his father. Then he dashed on ahead and turned to call out for the adults to hurry up.

“Thank you,” Silla called out with a laugh, and the child babbled back. They continued their way down, Din now behind the kid and in front of her, and she asked, “Is that his name, Ad’ika?”

“No,” Din answered. “That’s Mando’a for ‘little one’.” Pre-empting her next question, Din said, “He doesn’t have a name. I haven’t thought of a good one.”

Silla hummed as she took in this information. “Would it be alright if I called him _ad’ika_ as well?”

“Sure.”

“And what do I call you from now on?” Silla said, and he could hear the smile in her voice and the threat of that dark honey from last night to come back. Or it could’ve just been his imagination. “Since I’m a member of your crew, do I call you Captain and Sir?”

“Just Mandalorian is fine.”

There was silence and Din almost turned his helmet, but at last she said, “Of course.” It held the same warmth as always, as if she was understanding of where and why he drew the line and trying to be as accommodating as possible. He wasn’t talking to her more or less than yesterday, but a one-sided chill seemed to have formed from his end, and it was eating at him how easily she seemed to have moved on from last night’s mishap. He sighed in frustration, which was a mistake.

“Are you tired, Mandalorian?” Silla said, stepping forward so she was next to him. “Shall I take one of the baskets back from you? I’m noticing some tension returning to your shoul-”

“I’m fine,” he cut her off. He wanted to concoct a half-truth about not being used to the kid throwing tantrums, but then he might be drawn into another conversation with her, and he just didn’t have it in him right now.

There was another silence, and the hum she made this time was full of skepticism and frustration, but she simply advised him to let her know if he needed a break, as his health was her responsibility now. He gave her a short thanks in return, and they continued marching onward.

Ahead of them, the kid had stopped by a familiar patch of grass, and he called out. He wanted more stars to play with, and Silla quickly caught on. As she ran past him towards the child, Din gripped the shovel tighter. He wished she hadn’t mentioned the waterfall to him, but even if she hadn’t, the wet patches on her headscarf and on the collar of her robes, the sheen of _something_ on her skin, had all but shouted at him what she’d done up there. He’d walked ahead of her so there was no chance of his eyes drifting towards her and setting his imagination and memories off all over again. They were far enough away from him that he allowed himself to sigh, deeper and longer this time. How sick in the head was he that the mere suggestion of a woman’s wet hair was making him dizzy?

 _This is your punishment for thinking of pulling her hair last night_ , said a cruel part of himself that he couldn’t stop from flaring up every now and then.

As he got closer, he heard her telling the kid that he could play with the stars or carry the medicine bag, but he wouldn’t be able to do both at the same time. At how deeply focused the kid was as he turned his head between the two choices she held in her hands, and the way his trembles increased with agitation, one would be forgiven for thinking it was a matter of life and death to him.

The kid whimpered and waved his hands in frustration, and Silla straightened as inspiration struck her. She took one of the grass stars and loosened the way the four blades interlocked with each other. She then looped it onto the string that tied the bag shut, and tied another knot to lock it in place. “What do you think _ad’ika_?”

His ears perked at the term of endearment, and he held the medicine bag aloft to watch the star swing to and fro. He jumped and giggled at the sight, then spotted the loose blades still in her hand. Setting down the bag, he tugged at the string and at her sleeve with an insistent, “Eh! Eh!” Smiling, Silla made a second star around the string, tied this one in place as well, and suddenly the kid was happily waddling down the path again, looking back to make sure the adults could keep up.

Silla sighed in relief and asked, “I’m not spoiling him by your standards, am I?”

“No,” he said quickly. “You’re doing great.” He took the opportunity to once again move ahead of her in the path.

Silla’s hum was warmer this time. “I will say, if he feels like he can cry and fuss in front of you,” she said, “then you’re doing a great job yourself.”

Din froze for a moment and it was only the threat of Silla moving in front of him again that got his legs to start working again. His throat was tight and he was torn between smiling and sobbing, but he took a few deep breaths and forced himself to walk slower as his rapid pulse went back to normal. Even when he was sure he’d reached baseline, his voice was hoarse when he replied, “Thank you.”

* * *

For someone who was of as nomadic people as the Mandalorians, it shouldn’t have surprised Din that they’d manage to fit everything, including the tent, onto Silla’s hovercraft. Still, as she secured the tarp that had been the tent’s walls and roof around the stack of interlocked baskets and onto the craft, while still leaving space for the three of them to comfortably sit down, he was impressed.

The ride to town was more relaxed than the hike from the falls. The kid was awake this time, and was occupying himself with a new game where he would jump back and forth between Din’s lap and Silla’s, trying to stay off the hovercraft’s surface as much as possible. On one occasion it looked like he would stumble but he stuck the landing in Din’s lap, earning applause from the delighted healer, and from that point on he would stay pouting wherever he was until he received applause from the other one. It didn’t bother Din at all, for it was something so small that could make his _ad’ika_ so happy.

As she made her final rounds around town and said her goodbyes, Silla received more gifts to take with her, gifts that the givers would not let her refuse. They were always ready to cite one illness they or a loved one had that she’d helped them with while pressing the box or bag into her arms, some even throwing in a small sweet for the kid. When the hovercraft passed by Mala, the vendor who’d first told Din about Silla, the healer called out to thank the stout woman for the spicy noodles.

“Oh, it was nothing, absolutely nothing,” Mala said. “Where will you go from here?”

Silla turned towards Din, but he said nothing, so she said, “Wherever his ship takes me.” Upon hearing a coo from the child currently in her lap, she reached out on reflex and patted his head, then got the bag of herbs that the child had carried to camp. Din noticed the canny look Mala gave him, then Silla, but she was back to being a warm business owner by the time Mala had retrieved her delivery. “One last delivery of these assa leaves and roots, and I do hope this ban ends soon. Here’s hoping medical supplies arrive soon.” Silla’s voice became cold at the end, and the child’s ears drooped at the sound.

“Well, if you’re looking for work, Mandalorian,” Mala leaned over her counter. “There might be something for you on Jossan-2. They’re the main trading hub of this sector, and anything we get has to go through them. It’d be nice if you could end the pissing contest they’re having up there, but you’re just one man, so I suggest you look for some under the table stuff.”

Din nodded. “Thanks.”

Before the hovercraft could pull away, Mala called out for Silla and gently pulled her close, whispering something into her ear while handing her gift over. Silla’s grip on the bag tightened and the muscles in her neck jumped, and Mala laughed and sent them on their way with a hearty, “Have fun on your travels!”

Once they were far enough away Din asked, “What was that about?”

Silla’s mouth was tight and her face was pink as she shook her head. “Inside joke.” She realized she was still clutching the gift and quickly stuffed it into her own personal bag.

When they arrived at the spaceport, Jae met them to thank Silla for the wine, and with a wave of his hand he brought over a floating pod cradle. Din felt a pang as he was reminded of Kuiil, while both Silla and the kid were delighted with the mechanic’s work. “Whaddya think, huh?”

“Why don’t we let him be the judge?” Silla picked up the Child. “May I put him in, Mandalorian?”

“Sure.”

Silla set the child into the pod, where it rustled in the blankets and stretched out with a series of happy coos. “Not sure how fast he’s gonna grow but if he’s anything you this should be good for another year or so,” Jae said. “And now, for the part that makes it worth a jug of snake wine and not just a keg of cheap booze.” He grabbed two panels on the sides that would stabilize the pod if the hover feature were turned off. Folding them upward, they formed a large tray that extended a bit past the front of the pod. Once locked in place, Jae lifted the covers to reveal an activity board of colorful buttons, switches, wheels, and other things for the child to play with.

Din’s eyes widened as he recognized the various parts Jae had used for it, but the loudest and most important opinion was the Child’s, who gave a string of warbling squeals of delight, clapping his hands furiously before smashing them all over the board. The moment he discovered a rainbow row of buttons lit up when he pressed them, he was lost to the world.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Din said. “How much-”

“Hey hey now,” Jae said. “This lady here took care of that yesterday. Unless you wanna pay for another day in the docks, I won’t be indebted any further to ya.” With that, Jae walked away, and the Child looked up from the activity board long enough to give a cheerful cry and wave, and then he was back to his buttons.

Din stepped closer to the pod and synced it with his vambrace, and when he walked toward the Razor Crest, the pod followed.

Silla followed close behind, and Din couldn’t help but turn and ask, “How much does that snake wine usually sell for?”

She smiled. “The cradle will be as much a help to me as it is to the two of you,” she said, dodging the question. “It leaves our arms free, and if we’re busy and need to keep an eye on him, he’ll be comfortable and entertained.” Her smile widened. “And we’ll know he’s up to something if he stops making noise.”

He couldn’t argue with that, so he didn’t press the matter further.

* * *

As Mala had said, Jossan had several strong industrial centers and would likely be safe to dock his ship there, but it was far. With his ship refueled, he could make a jump and be there in a matter of days, but it would burn out all his fuel and then most if not all of his credits. With an additional crew member, he couldn’t afford to work on as thin a margin as before. Din instead travelled a course that took them through a few planets where he could take smaller jobs. It would take more time to reach Jossan, but they were less likely to end up in debt.

He had to keep reminding himself of why he’d chosen this method as the weeks went by and sharing a space with the new medic didn’t become any easier. And she was trying to give him as much space as her professionalism would allow. When the three of them went out together, always after Din had gone out alone to scout and make sure it was safe, she’d keep the pod between her and Din. She would rest a hand on the pod while she used her walking stick to scope out the nonliving parts of her surroundings. He made sure that she wasn’t cheated on money, and she would make sure his clients were honest, but that was all talk. The two of them almost never did anything that required physical contact.

She’d shown him several daily exercises he could do to treat and then prevent some of the damage she’d seen in his body, and would then observe him to make sure that he did them and that he did them properly, making adjustments with her hands when necessary. Other than that, she seemed content to focus most of her attention on the kid.

It was how she treated the kid, or rather how it was so different from how she treated her captain, where Din felt something unsettling. For weeks, he wasn’t sure if it was guilt, but he knew it was at least discomfort. It wasn’t that she treated the Child poorly. In fact, she was such a warm, empathetic caregiver, no doubt helped by her special sight, that she was often mistaken for his mother in public, the same way people had called him “your boy” even before he’d officially adopted him. Except Silla would softly correct them and explain that she was his nanny. She got as much use as she could out of a few baby hand-me-downs the Liserans had gifted her, allowing the kid at last to have more than one set of clothing, a few more toys, and even his own eating utensils. She could play with him for hours and even have him help her with more repetitive tasks, like setting out herbs to dry or mixing a medicinal paste. Through it all, she would talk to him in that warm voice of hers, in full sentences, as she explained what she was doing, told him a story, or played along in one of his games.

The moment Silla felt Din was in the same room as her, though, she grew quiet. The warmth didn’t disappear completely, but it was muted along with her voice in general. The first few days she’d spoken to and asked him questions freely, but his short responses must’ve told her something, for then she spoke as if every word out of her mouth to Din was money spent and her ledger was fast approaching red.

The Child sensed that something was wrong, as he grew fussy more frequently and it would take longer for either of them to calm him down. According to Silla, there wasn’t a physical source for his crankiness, and all they could do was ride it out with him. Din wondered if the kid was picking up on his own stress, as the various odd jobs he’d taken on their route left him irritated, worn out, and with barely enough pay to cover fuel and supplies. He held on, hoping their fortune would change once they arrived on Jossan, and Silla did what she could with her medicinal cooking. She even tried to refuse her cut, saying that room and board on the Razor Crest were enough, but Din wasn’t having it.

The source of Din’s discomfort finally became clear the night before they were scheduled to finally arrive on Jossan. It was routine that whatever level Din had settled on, Silla would take her meal on the other one to allow Din his privacy, and the Child would eat with whoever he chose, usually Din. Recently, Silla had been encouraging the kid to spend as much time with Dad as possible when Din wasn’t busy, even attempting to get the kid to say either Dad or _buir_ , to no success so far. Tonight, when Silla finished preparing, she delivered Din’s portion to him in the cockpit, but before he could take off his helmet, she asked him to wait. She brought over the Child in his bib and with his portion, then nudged him towards his father with a smile, but when she turned to leave the Child cried out.

“I think he wants to eat with you,” said Din.

“If I stay, you won’t be able to eat,” she replied, but the Child tugged at the hem of her robe, trying to pull her into the cockpit. “Oh _ad’ika_ , we spent several hours together already, surely-”

“Why have you been trying to get him to spend more time with me?” Din asked. Did she regret taking the job? He certainly couldn’t blame her, in which case they could go their separate ways once they reached Jossan. He hoped he could convince her to stay, if only for the kid.

If he could see Silla’s eyes, he imagined they’d be blinking right now, though he could see her mind formulating a response that was honest and tactful. “Your stress levels have been high recently,” she said, “and I’ve noticed that your energy tends to be more… peaceful, whenever your son is with you, when you can talk to him.” The child continued to whimper and tug at her robe, so she knelt down to pick him up and lightly bounce him in her arms. “I wanted to give you as much time together where you could have your helmet off.”

At the word helmet, the kid turned in Silla’s arms, reaching out for Dad, and she gently passed the Child into Din’s arms. “I don’t think he’s gonna be peaceful if you’re not around,” he said. Din meant for dinner, but as soon as the words left his mouth he realized it could apply in general too.

Silla’s smile thinned for a moment before she forced one corner up. “He'll be fine. After all you’re his father and I,” she paused, sighing, “I’m just the caretaker.” He heard a small hitch in her voice when she said caretaker, and she heard it too, because she suddenly bowed her head. “If you’ll excuse me, ca- Mandalorian, I’ll be eating on the lower deck.” She reached out and quickly patted the kid’s head, a small amount of joy returning to her face. “You be good _ad’ika_.” With that, she closed the doors to the cockpit, and a moment later he heard the slam of her boots on the lower deck.

The sound matched the guilt that punched Din in the stomach, and the Child’s whimpering at the closed door ceased as he turned to face his dad, eyes wide, the whimpers beginning anew as he clutched at Din’s helmet. He didn’t want the kid to see what kind of face he was making, but the suffocating feeling was growing unbearable, so he removed it. As he thought, the Child made sympathetic coos and patted his face, trying to push his grimace into a smile, growing more distressed when it didn’t seem to be working.

“Shh, shh, I’m okay _ad’ika_ ,” Din murmured, keeping his voice low so Silla wouldn’t hear him. “I just realized I’ve been hurting someone badly, and she didn’t deserve any of it.” He glanced over at their dinners. “And it’d hurt her even more if we let the food get cold. How ‘bout we eat first and then talk?”

The kid chirped in response and he grasped his baby spoon to help himself to the curry rice. The Child took to his food with gusto, but though Silla had spiced Din’s portion to his liking, his taste buds felt dull and heavy in his mouth. He took a deep breath to get his stomach to loosen from the earlier gut punch, and that made it easier. It took longer than usual, but he managed to finish, at which point the kid was lightly using his powers to get the last few morsels from the tray and the bib into his mouth. Once he’d swallowed the last bit, Din wiped his face clean, then removed the bib and held the Child in his lap.

“Y’know womp rat,” he said, rubbing his Child’s head to contented sighing, “Up until I met you, I never really felt like a Mandalorian.” The Child tilted his head and made a questioning sound. “I swore the Creed, kept my helmet on, but in the Tribe, it always felt like I was on thin ice.” He sighed, leaning back into his chair and remembering the fight he had with Paz. “It felt like the Tribe would have my back only if I kept bringing in enough credits, enough supplies, to support them, and the moment I failed, I might as well just take that off,” he gestured to the helmet, “and never put it back on again. Even then, when I brought in beskar, they were mad because-” Because he’d traded Imperials for it, because he’d given up a foundling, because he wasn’t good enough. Even if he’d used their beskar to forge the weapons to take back the child, nothing would ever erase the stain of that first exchange. His throat tightened as he couldn’t say it outloud and risk making the kid re-live such an awful memory.

The child squawked and nuzzled his face into Din’s cape. “Shh, sorry _ad’ika_ . I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he chanted. “Really, I didn’t start to feel like a Mandalorian until I met you, and they came out to help us. _This is the Way_.” At the familiar words, the kid smiled, babbling in an attempt to repeat it, then turning to reach towards his favorite ball on the console. Smiling, Din unscrewed it and gave it to his son to play with. Silla had voiced concern about a choking hazard when she first saw it, then after an examination of the Child’s teeth and airways, decided it was passable.

“And now, I’ve made her feel like an outsider,” Din sighed. The Child’s ears twitched. “You like Silla?” The Child’s ears perked up and he happily cooed in response. “Yeah, she’s nice to you. It’s fun being around her, isn’t it?” he said, rubbing the Child’s ears to soft giggles. “She’s probably enjoying her time with you, but thinking that just because she’s a crew member doesn’t mean we like or care about her.” He ran a hand over his face, remembering that first day on the mountain and how relaxed they’d been around each other, and now she said that she was just a caretaker. _I’m replaceable. He needs you, but you don’t need me. At best, you tolerate me._

The Child made a small cry of protest. “Of course we like her, and she knows you like her, but I’ve completely f-” he caught himself, and the Child tilted his head as if trying to coax him to continue with the uncensored version. “I’ve done a bad job of showing it. I’ve done the opposite actually, and she probably thinks it’s her fault,” He sighed, loudly this time as he leaned back into the chair. He’d gotten most of it out of his system talking to the kid, but the rest wasn’t appropriate for his big floppy ears. One word, yes or no, and she’d respected his choice and immediately removed herself from his side. Maybe she shouldn’t have been as aggressive when she made her offer, but anything harsh he could come up with had likely cycled through her thoughts over and over since he’d started freezing her out.

All because he couldn’t own up to his own lust and talk to her like an adult, to someone who, from her own words, had had experience and wouldn’t judge him for it. Instead, he’d treated her like the plague and hoped that distance would cool it and then make it disappear entirely, rather than the sick obsession that still continued to haunt him at night until he took himself in hand, no matter how much of that tea she kept leaving outside his cot.

“I should go apologize to her right now. What do you think?” The Child slowly clapped his hands and let out a yawn. “Yeah, and your bed’s downstairs. Maybe we can ask her to sing you a lullaby.” The child mumbled in agreement, and Din slipped his helmet back on and gently rocked the kid in one arm as he left the cockpit and descended the ladder.

They found Silla in her hammock, her robe wrapped around her like a blanket, and her breath deep and even. Her music box was on the floor beneath her, slowing down but still playing. The child reached out, for he loved swinging on the hammock, but Din gently stopped him. “Let her sleep. We’ll talk later.” He got the two of them ready for bed, and when Din set the Child in his pod, the kid let out a small whine. He wanted the music box. Din hesitated. Silla had used it every night to help the child sleep, but it still felt like her possession. Still, if he didn’t use it, the Child was likely to get louder and wake her up. Quietly, Din retrieved the now silent box. He cranked it up and a familiar tune filled the cabin, and though the sound caused Silla to stir, she didn’t wake, and soon the kid was asleep too.

Silla had a point about his _ad’ika_ being a calming influence, because after all that talk, Din fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor baby. He doesn't know what sexual tension is, he can just sense Dad and Soft One are being weird around each other and it's driving him crazy.
> 
> This was originally supposed to end with smut, but then Din's realization how he's treating Silla just sprang forth, so had to hit the brakes for a bit. Next chapter though...


	4. The Night Shift

When Silla woke up, her head felt stuffed and her eyes felt rubbed raw. She vaguely remembered going to sleep with a heavy feeling in her chest, and with the hum of the ship and the overall inorganic atmosphere, she held her breath, fearing the worst.

Then she heard the murmurs of the Child, dozing in his cradle, and the fear dissolved into relief as she remembered. Just to double check, she felt her blindfold and eye paste were where they should be.

She sat up in her hammock and fumbled for her datapad. With her earphones in place, Silla found that she’d slept a respectable seven hours and that they were due to land in Jossan in six hours. The gentle energy signatures from father and son told Silla that they were still sleeping, and to her satisfaction the Mandalorian’s recent agitation and disturbances seemed to have faded. She smiled. Getting him to spend more time with his _ad’ika_ had worked.

Silla got out of bed and got dressed, slipping her datapad into her robe. When she reached down for the music box, she grasped empty air. She swept her hands on the nearby floor, then turned her head toward where the Child slept. She could see his form and, more faintly, the form of his cradle, but the other surroundings were dark. She silently walked toward the Child and knelt, and to her relief she found the music box below the cradle. Father and son remained in deep sleep, and while the gentle hum of their souls was soothing to look at, Silla couldn’t linger when there was breakfast to prepare.

Once she’d closed herself in the upper deck kitchen, Silla got her hands busy and focused. Her surroundings shrank to the sounds and smells of the kitchen. The familiar rhythms put her in a trance, and before long the only thing left to do was wait for the rice to finish. Setting the timer on her datapad, she stepped back as the sudden idleness made her mind turn on itself. The most recent shame cycle she often locked herself in was how she’d been so enthralled with the Child, so bright in the Force that he and his father were on the run from the Empire, that she needed to be reminded that he was not her Child to love. Silla’s brow furrowed underneath her blindfold, and she grimaced, trying to instead concentrate on the faint hiss and hum of the stove.

“Silla.”

She jumped, and he grabbed her arm to stop her from stumbling. “Mandalorian!” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice you there.” Thank goodness she hadn’t been holding a knife. Then again, depending on how long he’d been there, maybe he’d waited until her hands were empty.

“It’s fine,” he said, letting go of her arm. “If you’re not busy, I need to talk to you. About last night.”

The mere mention of last night made her stomach twist as she remembered how the Child had cried out for her. “I apologize for abandoning my responsibilities as caretaker and for suggesting even slightly that you weren’t spending enough time with him as a father, ” she said, bowing her head. “It won’t happen again.”

The Mandalorian tilted his head. “I accept your first apology, but not your second,” he said. Silla straightened and scanned him over, not seeing any red sparks of anger, only the faint static of nerves. “I’m still new at this, and I need all the help I can get. You seem to have a lot more experience, and I want to make sure the kid’s happy. I don’t want anything to go unquestioned just ‘cause this is my ship.”

Silla sighed and dropped her shoulders, not realizing how tense she’d made herself. “I understand,” she said. The static grew stronger and the Mandalorian didn’t turn away, so she waited.

“I also want to apologize,” he said, and now Silla felt her own nerves tensing. “I’ve been cold to you ever since that night on Lisera. You made an offer in good faith and dropped it the moment I said no,” he continued, “but after convincing you to leave that mountain paradise for the Razor Crest, I treated you like an unwanted guest. I’m sorry.”

Oh. Silla realized her mouth was open and clamped it shut. Her face felt warm and she held her hands together to calm their trembling. “Thank you for being considerate of me,” she said. “I was afraid that I’d crossed a line and that you were keeping things professional, because I’ve served on other crews on a temporary basis and have been treated… I wouldn’t say cold, but similarly distant.” Her hands stilled as a calm swept over her, and she lifted her head to face him. “How would you like us to be?”

The Mandalorian’s energy stilled for a moment, before it went racing, and Silla found hers catching up. “That first day we spent on the mountain,” he said, “the way you talked to me, and the kid… that was-” he cleared his throat. “I’d like that.”

A smile spread across Silla’s face, and she saw the Mandalorian’s energy light up in return. “That sounds wonderful.” She held out a hand. “A fresh start?”

They shook hands. “A fresh start.”

She wanted to tell him that the offer she’d made that night was still on the table, but this clean slate felt precarious, and she didn’t want to ruin it so soon.

A soft cry sounded from the lower deck, and Silla laughed. “Sounds like _ad’ika_ is awake. I’ll stay here,” she laughed again at the way the Mandalorian tilted his head, “Because I need to watch breakfast. I’ll be joining the two of you shortly.” She let go of his hand and gave his arm a light shove. “Go, before his quiet cries become loud screams.”

It might’ve just been random feedback from the helmet’s mic, but the small laugh Silla heard from the Mandalorian as he left sent the blood rushing back to her face.

* * *

The Child cooed as Dad came to pick him up and walk around, lightly bouncing him, but he was hungry! He squirmed and looked around for Soft One to bring food.

“Shh, shh, I know you’re hungry,” Dad said, “Silla’s getting it ready.”

The Child looked at Dad, hearing the change in his voice, and reached out to him. Dad was less shaken and more calm, warm even, and the Child giggled in delight. His Dad was back to normal! It had been such a long time and so upsetting to see his dad quietly hurting. The good news soothed the Child’s hunger for now, as Dad continued to pace around the ship, speaking to him in that quiet voice he loved.

There was noise upstairs and soon Soft One came down, filling the room with delicious smells. The Child cheered and wriggled in Dad’s arms as he reached out for his food. She set everything on the table near the beds and Dad set him down into his pod, right now with the button board folded away. The Child looked at Soft One, noticing that she wasn’t quietly hurting anymore either, and gave out another happy cheer. “Oh, thank you,” Soft One said, the warmest he’d heard her voice around Dad in forever.

Then she turned to leave, and the Child cried out for her to stay. “Ah, you want to eat with me?” Soft One looked at Dad, who nodded, but when she went to pick him up he thrashed and struggled. He wanted her to eat here, with Dad! They had just stopped being weird and hurting, and if they separated they would go back to being weird and the ship would feel cold again.

As the Child struggled to reach them both, struggled to get the words out, something finally clicked in his mind and he shouted, “Da!”

Both Dad and Soft One went still, Soft One gasping, as both of their spirits burst with light. Dad leaned forward to pick him up, the light in his spirit coming off of him in waves, and he whispered, “Say that again?”

“Da! Da!” repeated the Child, glowing in the attention and the happiness he felt in his father. “Dada!”

“I guess today’s the day for all of us to have communication breakthroughs,” laughed Soft One. She clapped her hands. “Wonderful _ad’ika_ , just wonderful.”

While his dad hugged him tight and he continued to babble “Da” to keep up the happiness, Soft One went up the ladder. He made a small cry and she said, “I’ll be back ad’ika.” Soon she reappeared with her food. She set it down on the table and turned to Dad. “How do you want to do this?”

Both Dad and Soft One had calmed down, but the weirdness didn’t return, to the Child’s delight. “How much detail can you see with your eyes?” Dad asked. The Child couldn’t wait any longer and dove into his breakfast.

Soft One held up a hand to trace the air. “I can see the shape of your armor, because there are places where your energy doesn’t shine as strongly,” she explained. “If you took your helmet off, I’d see your hair and the outline of your head, and if you turned your face to the side I’d see your profile, but otherwise the shape of your eyes, those small details, I wouldn’t be able to tell.” As Dad considered this, Soft One turned to the Child. “ _Ad’ika_ , are you sure this is how you want us all to eat this morning?”

The Child gave an insistent huff, and Soft One sighed. “I have a special blindfold I use to sleep sometimes,” she said. “It blocks out even my Force sight, so I’m what most would normally consider ‘blind’. Shall I put that on? I can still coordinate fine.”

Dad considered this, and the Child could feel his mind buzzing, so he reached over with his empty hand to pat his father’s arm in comfort. Dad gently touched it with his own hand, and then he said, “The two of you can eat first, I’ll at least drink the soup, and then I’ll eat the rest in the cot.” Soft One hummed in agreement, and soon the sight of Dad drinking soup with a straw plus Soft One’s shaking with contained laughter made the Child burst into giggles.

“Looks like he approves,” laughed Soft One, finally eating her food.

The Child whined when Dad closed the door to his bed, but his presence was close enough that he didn’t fuss. Once he and Soft One finished their food, she got them and their dishes cleaned while Dad finished his. Sometime later, while he was with Dad in the cockpit and playing with his button board, he fell asleep.

When next he woke, they’d landed and it was time for Dad to go out on his own. The Child cooed his farewells as Dad hugged him as usual, but today as Soft One held him, she said, “Say ‘Bye, Dad!’”

“Bah Da!”

The burst of light returned to his father’s spirit, and he reached out to pat the Child’s head. “You be good, womp rat.” Today, Dad held his hand for a little while longer before he stepped down the ramp.

* * *

The memories of this morning had Din giddy, and he had to restrain the spring in his step as he explored Jossan’s main industrial center, situated inside a large lake and filled with small stone islands connected by bridges and canals. From the hangar at the edge of the city, Din couldn’t see the shore of the lake. The canals were all linked to an inner basin with the largest island and most commercial activity dead center. Various drivers called out from the canals for people to take their boats, but Din wanted to take in as much detail as he could at his own pace, so he walked. A glance in the canals revealed how deep the stone islands went, with tens of stories of lights lighting up the water. As expected, most of the non-humans he passed on the street were members of amphibian or aquatic species.

The planet had yet to join the New Republic, and he could still see scars of the Empire on the buildings. Old graffiti, old propaganda posters, and every once in a while an otherwise normally dressed citizen would be sporting a piece or two of stormtrooper armor. Except the helmets. Those were reserved for spikes he’d see outside various businesses and even some residencies. He noticed a lot more spirit advisors and such advertising their services than he had on the other planets in this sector, but if experience and confirmation with Silla’s sight had taught him anything, they were more than likely cold reading frauds.

He stepped off the bridge and onto the center island, and made his way to the tallest tower in the center. Once there, he found a cantina in the directory and took an elevator down. When the doors opened, he walked into a crowded cantina that takes up the entire floor, with floor-to-ceiling windows giving a panoramic view to the water outside. Several heads turned towards him as his helmet gleamed in the low light, but nobody approached, so instead he took a seat near the entrance, giving him a full view of the cantina and with his back to one of the few areas of solid wall.

From this vantage point he observed mostly locals chatting away with loved ones and what he thought were local government officials on break, based on their finer dress and the withering looks cast their way. There were fewer droids wandering around for a city of this size than he expected, and he wondered if the imminent threat of flood damage kept them scarce. At one point, nervous movement in his peripheral vision caused him to move his eyes, but not his helmet, where he spotted the end of a death stick trade where both seller and buyer glared at him. Din resisted the urge to shake his head, but he at least had to roll his eyes at the amateurs.

To stave off boredom, he allowed himself to enjoy the view from the windows. Fish swam past and he easily imagined the kid being enthralled by the sight. A horde of them swam past to scattered applause from the crowd, and his eyes followed them as they swam between the nearby buildings. He could see their dark shapes and faint lights, and for a moment he wondered if this was similar to how Silla saw the world, if she would enjoy this cantina as much as he or the kid would. The smell was a bit musty from old furniture and recycled air, but the speakers played a soft tune that went well with the view.

Din didn’t know how long he’s in that trance, but he snapped out of it when he noticed a young man at the bar looking at him. He’s plainly dressed, and from the furtive way he kept glancing back and forth between him and some spot in the middle distant, he’s green. Din glanced around to see if he’s the only gawker, and confirmed that nobody else is glancing his way. Back to the young man, Din saw him down his drink and rub his hands together, before stumbling off the stool and walking towards him.

He stopped in front of Din and cleared his throat, but that still didn’t hide the wobble in his voice when he said, “Mandalorian, are you looking for work?” Din nodded, and it took a while before the greenhorn realized he’s supposed to give more details. His eyes darted around and he flinched at the few stares they seemed to be attracting, so he sat down, throwing a glance at the bar as if wishing he’d never left. Finally, his attention returned to Din, and he explained, “I’m looking for a bodyguard who’s willing to work this time at this location.” He unfolded a scrap of paper and slid it across the table. It was an evening job at one of the fishing piers on the edges of the city. Likely underworld.

“Who am I guarding?” Din asked.

“Oh, it won’t be me, in fact I’d be helping you,” the greenhorn blathered. “My boss has some meetings with clients where things get tense and he wants some insurance so-”

“Who is it and what’s his business?” The last thing he needed was to find himself on either Empire or New Republic radar.

The greenhorn shrank back, and he squeezed his hands in his lap in a way that reminded Din of Silla, except the guy in front of him looked much less dignified. “I… It might be better if I took you to meet him so he could explain,” he said.

“I don’t work with amateurs,” said Din, stern but merciful. “Do the job yourself or find someone else.”

The greenhorn’s eyes widened and his face went pale, and he reached into his pocket and fumbled around. Keeping his hand closed, he placed something on the table, then looked up at Din. “Please,” he said. “If you agree to come with me to meet my boss, you can have this.” He glanced around before slowly tugging his hand away to reveal a few discs of Calamari flan.

Underneath the helmet, it was Din’s turn to widen his eyes. This kid was either desperate or stupid enough to pay him that much just to talk to someone. He reached out for the money, keeping an eye on the greenhorn, wishing that Silla were here to help him determine if this was a trap. He reeked of desperation, and the money was incredible, so Din nodded and took the discs.

The greenhorn breathed a sigh of relief. “Alright, follow me, he’s in the building right now,” he said, and they both got up from the table. Din followed him to the elevators, and once the doors shut, the kid straightened and said, “Oh, my name’s Maru by the way, and you are?”

“Just Mandalorian’s fine,” Din said, and Maru was at least smart enough to leave it at that.

The elevator took them down to the third deepest level of the building, and as Maru led him through what looked like a maintenance and shipping area, Din memorized the route Maru in case he needed to run for it, making note of some submarines and other ways of escape. They finally arrived at a plain door, and Maru knocked. “Sir, it’s Maru. I found another one,” he said.

“Jeez, say that louder and maybe the floor above will hear too,” said a gravelly voice from the other side. “Come in, both of you, before you catch a cold out there.”

The man who greeted them was the last person Din would’ve expected to be involved in any underworld activity, which in a way made him perfect. He was middle aged with dark hair, tired eyes, and a cigarette dangling from his mouth that he swiftly put out and then leaned over to switch on an exhaust fan. He was dressed in a plain sweater over a diving suit, and Din noted that his office was kept very clean. “A Mandalorian eh? Haven’t seen one of you in years,” he said, extending a hand. “Alright Maru, what stupid thing did you do to get him to follow you here?”

Maru sighed. “I paid him.”

“Tch. Paid him? Well, at least you’re honest, not that that’s gonna do you much good,” the man sighed. To Din’s shock, the next words were in Mando’a. “ _Is it true? He paid you just to get you to talk to me?_ ”

Din hesitated, then answered in kind, “ _Yes. Now who are you and what do you want with me?_ ”

The man’s grin was so audacious that it transformed his face from that of a haggard paper pusher to a man who could claw up the underworld ladder. He switched back to Basic and said, “So you’re the real deal after all. Good to see you’re still around, but don’t tell anyone else I said that alright?” His laughter was forced and bitter and became a cough. “My name’s Stone, and I’m a smuggler. Well, I help smugglers for a cut. Bet you found your way here cause you heard about the trade dispute? I swear…” Din didn’t say anything, so Stone continued. “Anyway, the longer this pissing contest’s gone on, the more high-strung these idiots get, and I’m tired of having to talk them down from shooting each other all the fucking time, cuts into time I could be getting legitimate work done. I mostly need you to stand there and look scary, and hopefully guns never come out. But if they do, well, protect me, protect him,” he pointed at Maru, “and make damn sure that some other idiot takes the blame for it.” In other words, don’t fire the first shot. Stone turned back to Maru. “How much did you pay him to talk to me?”

“A thousand,” muttered Maru, staring intently at the carpet, “... flan.”

“Oh kid, you are killing me,” Stone groaned, slapping Maru on the back. “Alright Mando, I can pay you two thousand flan per bodyguard assignment, or one thousand base plus a quarter of what I get, whichever is higher. Maru already gave you the time and place. Sound good to you?”

Sirens sounded in Din’s mind and he re-evaluated Stone. For a man to be so generous and brazen meant that he was dangerous. Din almost wanted to turn down the job, but then he remembered the two who were waiting for him back on the ship. In particular, he remembered Silla’s offer to go without her cut, and how it galled him that she felt it necessary to offer in the first place. He felt Stone’s stare turn canny, and with a deep breath he hoped was too soft for the mic to pick up, Din nodded.

“It’s settled then,” Stone reached across the table and firmly shook his hand. “Can you find your way out or will you need Maru here to guide you? Guide fee is five hundred flan.” His grin may’ve indicated he was joking, but Din couldn’t be sure.

“No need.” He left the room and closed the door behind him, then as he walked away, switched on the thermal tracking. It showed the two people in the room, and a maintenance worker in the distance, but no one else, so he stepped in a side alcove and focused on the office door, tuning his hearing to the two smugglers.

“-just feels rude to say Mando instead of Mandalorian,” said Maru.

“Sheesh, she really did a number on you, didn’t she? You think he’s gonna shoot you for something as petty as that?” Stone grumbled. “Nah, they don’t get violent unless you do something really stupid like try to force off their helmets. They’re predictable in that honor of theirs, s’why I’m glad you brought me the real deal instead of a counterfeit. Personally, I think if you’d just paid him five hundred it would’ve been enough, but hey, nothing I can’t afford. Now go get some target practice. I’ve got holos to edit.”

Din turned away and kept walking as he heard Maru burst out of the office, and the sound of a woman’s moaning through a metallic filter right before the door shut gave him an idea of why. Setting his helmet back to neutral, he made his way to the elevator and out of the building, checking every so often to make sure he wasn’t being followed.

Though he continued this vigilance as he made his way back to the ship, the anxious knot in his stomach slowly relaxed as he felt an excitement from his work that he hadn’t felt in months. If all went well and he had even two jobs as Stone’s bodyguard, it’d be enough to get his tools of the trade repaired and replaced, restock on the necessities of living, and he could buy his son and their caretaker a few gifts, and even then he might have enough left over. The pragmatic part of him stressed the _if_ , but he couldn’t help but hope and look forward to sharing the news as the Razor Crest’s side hatch opened.

Had it not been for the kid’s happy giggles, the sight that greeted Din would’ve made him reach for his blaster.

Stories from his childhood of ghosts and wraiths flooded his mind when he saw the long mass of snow white hair that fell and pooled on the floor, but when he heard the Child and saw him running across and tugging the strands, Din paused, and then the figure on the floor turned and he was faced with a familiar black blindfold.

“Welcome back,” Silla said, her voice strained.

“Da!” The Child waved the Ball at him and then went over to Silla, jumping up and down and waving the Ball.

“Yes, yes let’s show him,” she said with an amused smile. Grabbing a thick bunch of hair, she held it with both hands so it made a hammock that the Child placed the Ball inside. Twisting the strands and locking the ball inside, she turned it over and over like a jump rope, and then on one turn the ball popped out. As it fell she untwisted her hair back into a hammock, catching the Ball to thunderous applause from the kid, who turned to his Dad with eyes full of _Did you see that?!_

“Not bad,” said Din, lightly clapping. He closed the door, all thoughts about his new job cleared from his mind as he processed the sight before him. He was reminded of the fantasy he’d had on Lisera, how he imagined her to have pale hair to match her skin. This, however, surpassed his imagination. Beautiful didn’t do it justice. The way her hair framed and lit up her face and fell across her body, the best word he could think of right now was unworldly, like the legendary Diathim of Iego. The temptation to reach out and run his hands through her hair was barely restrained by common sense.

Then she sighed and murmured, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Din froze. “What happened?”

She opened and closed her mouth a few times, then ducked her head. “What’s Mando’a for babysitter or nanny?”

He wasn’t following this conversation. “Bajur’ade, why?”

“That’s too much of a mouthful,” she whispered and shook her head as she looked at the Child, who waddled to her to retrieve his ball and then paused, tilting his head as he noticed her distress.

“Ma?” he said.

… Oh.

_Oh._

…

Fuck.

Silla buried her face in her hands. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t teach him to say that,” she cried. “I tried to get him to say Silla but he just kept-”

“Shh, it’s not your fault,” he said, and he meant it. “He probably picked it up from all the strangers who made that mistake.” He knelt down and picked up his son, and Silla stood as well, revealing that her hair went past her knees. Din gulped as quietly as he could, then spoke to the Child. “ _Ad’ika_ ,” he said, pointing, “this is Silla. Silla.” He gestured to her.

The kid peered over at Silla, eyes squinting, and when Din repeated the words and gestures, the kid shook his head and pointed at her with an insistent, “Mama.”

Silla had folded her hands when she stood up, but now her right hand drifted up to her left arm, where she squeezed to calm down the shaking that overtook her body. “No, I’m not, I’m sorry Child but I’m not your mother,” she murmured with a faint wobble in her voice.

The Child whimpered at her distress, and Din said, “ _Ad’ika_ , she doesn’t like it when you call her that. It’ll make her a lot happier if you call her Silla. Silla. Can you do that?"

The Child looked back over at her, and he moved his mouth but the sound wouldn’t come out. Silla repeated her name, hoping that seeing her mouth move would help, and sure enough, he said, “See… lah.” At seeing the smile return to her face, he gave it another try. “Seelah. Seeeee.” He pouted at how it didn’t sound right.

Silla patted his head and stroked an ear. “See will do just find for now,” she said, and Din saw her mouth quirk as she got the irony of it. “The two of us already ate, your lunch is in the cot.”

“See! See!” the kid repeated, earning him more headpats.

Today the kid decided to stay with Din as he ate in the cot with the door closed, but they could hear her humming right outside as she cleaned up the lower deck from playtime. The kid must’ve been tired from lunch and playtime, because once Din had set his dishes in the sink, he’d fallen asleep on his shoulder. Once he delivered the kid into his cradle and closed the doors, he sat back down on the cot and sighed, finally releasing his shoulders.

“You seem in high spirits, though a little shaken,” Silla observed, combing out her hair and braiding it. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Got a gig as a bodyguard. Pays well, got some up front even, and the client seems experienced. If I get enough assignments we’ll be set for months.” He gazed at her hands and their graceful movements, and she somehow managed to not disturb her blindfold while doing all of this. “I start tomorrow night.”

Silla hummed in understanding, but didn’t turn her gaze from him. “The ‘if’ is what worries you. Does it all seem too good to be true?”

He sighed, relieved that he wasn’t alone in thinking this. “Yeah. Whole place shows off their hostility to the Empire, but I can’t help but worry.”

She wrapped the braids around her head, and then asked, “Mandalorian, could I-”

“We’ve talked about this Silla,” he cut in. “You don’t need to worry about me or forgo your cut. This alone-” he took out the discs and clacked them in his hands so she could hear, “should last us a few weeks on this planet.” He rummaged through his wallet for a smaller amount, and found a few discs that roughly totaled Silla’s portion. Taking her hand, he placed the discs in her palm and firmly pushed her fingers closed.

“That’s not what I was going to ask,” she said with huffed laughter. “Since your first assignment is tomorrow night, I wanted to know if I could get the rest of today off.” She ducked her head. “It seems like such a busy place compared to the other planets we’ve been on recently, and I wanted to stretch my legs for a bit.”

Since he’d be on the ship with the kid, he didn’t see why not. “You’ll be fine on your own?”

“Nothing I haven’t done before,” she said, securing her scarf in place. “I can get dinner ready for the two of you before I go, in case I decide to stay out.”

Din shook his head. “Nothing I haven’t done before.”

He gave her a comlink and instructions on how to use it, and she surprised him when she said, “If I’m in danger but I have to be discreet, I’ll say that I want shrimp for dinner.” He remembered her allergy, and she smiled. “I used that with friends when I wanted to leave a party but didn’t want to offend the host.”

She took a bag and her walking stick, and soon he was alone again. Well, the kid was asleep in the pod, but in that state Din might as well have been alone.

He took off his helmet with a sigh and used his usual strategies of passing the time. Weapons and ship maintenance, making sure his childproofing measures were still in place. He was torn between preparing dinner while the kid still slept or waiting so it wouldn’t be cold by the time they actually ate. He decided letting the kid watch might be an educational opportunity. To pass more time, he slipped his helmet back on and went out to speak to one of the mechanics. It took some haggling, but eventually the mechanic agreed to patch the power line leaks and fix the navigator for five hundred flan. Din wondered if Silla could teach him how to make snake wine if only to have another skill if not something to barter with.

As the mechanic worked outside, Din went back inside and, after double checking the locks were engaged, slipped off his helmet again. Left with nothing to do, he found solitude on the ship to be emptier than before. Being alone on the job was nothing unusual, but being alone on the ship without another adult to talk to felt off.

He felt lonely. They didn’t even have to talk, just being alone in each others’ presence and with the Child as a go-between was enough. He wondered when and how he’d gotten used to it, especially since it had been uncomfortable until several hours ago. Then he remembered the sight of her hair, and the first night on the mountain, and an unwelcome feeling twisted inside him.

He sighed, as that was the one thing he’d failed to fully address with her. Regardless of what they said about a fresh start, the hunger was unmistakably there. Ignoring it wouldn’t work, but she seemed so much happier that he didn’t want to ruin it. If she didn’t ask, he wouldn’t push.

 _Good luck with that,_ said that damn voice.

* * *

The bodyguard job turned out to be one of the best jobs Din ever had. Stone was of the philosophy that even the black market was a business and to be treated as such. That meant paying people what they were worth, keeping your end of the bargain, but suffering no fools. His reputation carried enough weight that any conflicts were often silenced by a swift glare from the man, and Din would’ve felt unnecessary if not for the nervous glances some of the smugglers threw at his beskar before agreeing to Stone’s terms. Whichever rate Din ended up making, he felt he’d been paid fairly. Early on, Stone offered to throw in a rough cut of the holos he edited as a bonus. Din shut him down, and not even the added pitch of “What if I said I had blondes? You look like you like blondes” could get him to change his mind.

There was a lot of downtime as they waited for the other parties to arrive where the three of them reviewed what was trading hands, and both Stone and Din shared a side job of teaching Maru the finer points of negotiation and weapons. For the most part, the young man stayed an observer, silent and still, knowing that he’d reveal his inexperience with his first spoken syllable. One night, when they were waiting for the courier, Maru heard an arms dealer grumbling about how expensive his favorite caff had gotten, and he struck up a conversation to learn that the arms dealer was being overcharged at his usual haunt. Maru recommended that he instead go to a more hole-in-the-wall place outside of the inner basin. The arms dealer stared Maru down, but the young man didn’t flinch, and then the arms dealer slammed a hand on his shoulder and thanked him. Negotiations went smoothly that night, and the arms dealer gave Maru a tip of fifty flan.

Once the arms dealer and courier were out of sight and sound, Maru’s knees gave out and he fell to the floor, panting. “Did- did I do alright?”

Stone laughed and clapped the same shoulder the arms dealer had. “You did good kid, you did good.”

The job was roughly every other night, allowing the crew of the Razor Crest to fall into a routine. They ate breakfast or lunch together depending on how late Din woke up. If Din worked that night, the three of them would go out into town together during the day, where Silla would keep an eye out for any Force users as they explored a new part of town. They often found themselves making a stop at the main library on the central island, where Din searched through their archives for anything on the Jedi or the Force while Silla entertained the Child in the gardens.

If Din was free that night, Silla would go to town alone after lunch, usually returning a few hours after dark. The preparations she made plus her blindness had apparently given her some clout with the spiritually obsessed members of the wealthier residents, and she’d bring her hovercraft with her to both sell and restock. Often, she would have some information she obtained from the gossip of her customers, usually about the trade dispute. Din might’ve considered it a con had he not seen her make a sale when they were together. Silla described the ingredients and their benefits in a straightforward, helpful manner while the customers somehow drew their own conclusions about special properties. If they were willing to pay two hundred flan for a container the size of a bounty puck that contained mostly water, neither of them were going to argue, especially after that money allowed Silla to acquire a baby carrier that Din could put on without needing to take his cape or armor off.

Din protested the first time she gave him a cut of her earnings, retroactively including a cut of what she’d made in the weeks prior to Jossan, but she copied his gesture, closing his fist around the flan she’d given him. “We’re a team, Mandalorian. What kind of crew member would I be if I didn’t help my captain?” He could overpower her, but with the way she squeezed his hand and the tone of her voice, he knew he couldn’t make her take the money back.

It all added up to a sense of normalcy that still allowed him to uphold the Creed. In times of feast, he prepared for famine, getting as much repaired to his ship as he could, double-checking supplies, and still he managed to set aside some for the covert when he found them again.

Tonight, over a month since he’d first landed on Jossan, he was reminded of how fleeting it could be.

It took him a moment to recognize the death stick dealer from when he first entered that cantina, but the dealer definitely recognized him. What surprised him was the man he’d been selling to was accompanying him. From his twitchy demeanor and the way he eyed the spice bricks in the bag, he was likely getting high off the supply and had a debt to pay off. Stone’s mouth was a thin line and his eyes were hard, the contempt radiating off of him, and while Maru tried to keep his expression neutral, there was a tightness in his jaw.

“Heyyyyy, Rocky, how are you?” said the dealer.

Stone ignored him, his voice subdued as he muttered, “Wish I had a holo to watch right now.” Din and Maru shared a look, and Maru allowed a small smile to twitch on his face before they turned back to the pair in front of them.

“Look, before the courier gets here,” the dealer said, “I wanna talk about your commision-”

“Talking about a commission before a sale?” Stone asked, itching for a cigarette he couldn’t have in front of Maru. “I take my thirty percent, same as always.”

“But that’s the thing, we asked around and your standard cut is twenty,” whined the junkie. “Why are you being so unfair to us?”

Stone sighed the way a man sighs when it was a conversation he’d had before, never wanted to have again ever, but had resigned himself to the fact that he would continue to have it many times in the future. “Most smugglers are asking me to move goods that wouldn’t need to be smuggled if not for the current trade dispute. You are asking me to smuggle spice. Higher risk, higher price,” he said, and tapped his temple with a finger. “Got it?”

The junkie groaned and the dealer slapped him upside the head, hissing at him to shut up. Soon, the courier arrived, and the middleman with his two bodyguards stepped back. The courier set down a bag full of credits while the dealer set down the bag full of spice bricks, and they each counted to make sure everything was present and accounted for.

Then the dealer pulled out a knife, and Din was pleased to see Maru getting his hand on his blaster. “Sample for quality?” the dealer asked the courier. The courier tilted his head as the dealer dug the knife into one of the bricks, but when the dealer handed him the knife, the courier covered his mouth and nose and examined the crystals with his eyes and fingers

Finally, the courier nodded, “I think it’s satisfactory.”

“What about the other side?” Stone said, and all of their heads turned to look at him. Stone looked at the courier. “Ask for a sample from the other side of the brick.” At the reddening on the dealer’s face, Stone pinned him with a look. “If you really did ask around about me, you should’ve seen this coming. It’s not a good look for a broker to let scams go through.”

The courier’s eyes widened and his grip tightened on the knife, but the dealer pulled the brick away. “No, you said it was satisfactory, so it’s a done deal!” Nobody had drawn weapons yet but the junkie yelled as the courier snatched another brick from the bag and slammed it on the table, where the thin shell of spice cracked to reveal a crumbling clay brick. The courier sent the dealer a look that was cutting and swift, but didn’t reach for his weapon. Instead he grabbed the credits on the table and began stuffing them back into his own bag.

There was a shriek, the sound of blaster fire, and then a thud as the courier fell to the floor. The junkie barely had time to comprehend what he’d done before a second blaster shot went through his head.

“Jaffy!” the dealer screamed, and he reached for his own blaster, only to stop when he saw the three that were aimed at him.

“If one finger so much as touches your piece, you’re next,” hissed Stone, blaster raised and hot. “Kid, check on the courier. I can see he’s still breathing.” Maru stowed away his blaster and ran to the courier. Sure enough, the courier had been wearing protective clothing, and had only a bruised rib for his troubles. As Maru led him into cover to patch him up, Stone spoke again to the dealer, “No deal, not tonight, not ever. Get out, and take your trash with you.”

Rage had consumed the dealer as he glared at the broker and the bodyguard, his hands shaking as his fingers twitched towards his blaster. His mind raced with calculations on how likely he could take them down with him, but when his eyes drifted from Stone to Din, something gave, and his rage was replaced with shame and terror as he got his bricks and dead weight on the speeder and left, not quite able to muffle his sobs.

Aside from his rib, the courier had his pride bruised, but he sighed and thanked Stone for saving him from a bad trade, promising to recommend his services to others. In return, Stone gave him the contact information of a few more reliable clients who needed courier service, and sent him on his way.

Stone went into a nearby closet and brought out some cleaning supplies to get rid of the blood and brain matter on the ground. Reaching into his pocket, he gave Din his pay. “Sorry to say, but even though that guy was a junkie, his boss might make some heat. We’re gonna lay low for a while, and you should too,” he said, slipping on some gloves and bending to his knees to help Maru clean up. “Where can I find you when I’m ready to get you another job?”

“Southwest Hangar, C17,” said Din, and Stone waved him off.

* * *

He hadn’t planned on telling either Silla or the child the details about what happened, only that Stone didn’t have any more work for him in the foreseeable future, but when he lived with a kid who was sensitive to emotional states and woman who could literally see them, their worried hovering the next day eventually wore him down.

The kid was hugging and nuzzling before the story even ended, and when he finished and explained why he’d be staying in the Razor Crest for a while, Silla opened her arms as if to hug him, only to catch herself and clasp her hands in front of her chest instead. “Thank stars you’re all right, Mandalorian,” she said. “I can still make my rounds and get you anything you need while you’re stuck on the ship.”

They discussed how safe she would be and how likely the wrong people would be able to make a connection between the Mandalorian who’d been bodyguarding an underworld broker and the Mandalorian who’d been seen accompanying a blind woman around the city. The one likely to give him away was that amateur dealer, who might tell his boss, who might ask around and learn about Silla and kill her in retaliation, but that was a lot of threads to tie together, and Silla reminded Din that she was able to see hostile intentions.

Eventually, they worked out a compromise, where Silla could continue to make her rounds if she kept to densely populated areas and got back to the hangar before dark. She’d been bothered by the last one, saying that she was an adult, not a child who needed a curfew, but when Din held firm she agreed.

Even though Din was staying at the Razor Crest more than ever, Silla went out alone about as much as before. The Child was absolutely delighted that Dad was staying on the ship all the time, and introduced him to some of the games he’d played with Silla. To Din’s terror and wonder, she’d been encouraging him to move small objects with his powers, usually helping her cook or do other chores around the ship. When the kid was asleep, he double checked how well secured everything on the ship was, and he debated whether to have a heavy explosives high where the kid couldn’t reach it, or low where if the kid tried moving it it wouldn’t squash him. He then wondered where he could get another maximum security storage container for these kinds of things. He would ask Silla to be on the lookout but this was something he needed to see for himself to purchase. Overall, the mood on the ship didn’t change much.

Then, one evening, Silla didn’t return to the Razor Crest.

He commed her after sunset and got no response, and when he tried ten minutes later, still nothing. Five minutes after that, he finally got a response.

“Mandalorian, I-”

“Silla, where are you?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’m going to be back for another hour or two-” the sound was muffled for a few seconds, and he could hear her voice but not her words, as well as a deeper voice. The sound cleared again, and she said, “It won’t happen again, but just, eat dinner, go to sleep without me. I’ll be back, I promise, I’ll be back.” She ended the transmission, but not before Din heard a soft tune and the sound of a crowd in the background.

“Silla,” he commed her back, to no reply. “Silla.” She was ignoring or had switched off her end. His body was tense, his instincts screaming that something bad would happen if he left her alone.

From his pod, the Child reached out to Din. “Da?” he asked, pointing to the door. “See?”

“I don’t know,” said Din, keeping his voice steady. He didn’t want to alarm the kid, but the kid’s ears still drooped.

“See! See!” he called out. “See-lah!”

Din thought. Where would he start looking if he wanted to find her? Where did they play that music? As the kid cried out, he realized he should at least feed the kid his dinner, when the answer struck him.

* * *

When he stepped out of the elevator into the cantina a second time, it was just as crowded as the first, but hardly anyone looked at him, which told Din that his cloak did a good enough job of hiding him. Underneath, the kid was dozing, full from a dinner of soup and then rocked to sleep by Dad’s walking. As the familiar ambient music filled the air, Din was relieved to find that his memory was right.

Sweeping the room, he saw no one wearing a blindfold, no one with a walking stick, no one with long white hair who resembled his medic. He walked up to the bar, clenching his fist in reflex when he saw the two droids serving. They had other customers to cater to, but once he had the attention of one of them, he cut to the chase. “I’m looking for a blind woman who was here about half an hour to an hour ago.”

“I have not seen such a person, but I only cover and observe this half of the cantina. I would suggest you ask-”

Din left the seat before they finished and marched to the other droid on the opposite side, repeating his query.

“Oh, Lilia with the long white hair?”

Din’s stomach dropped. “Yes.” He hadn’t seen her with her hair unbound since that one time, and his mind went wild with possible scenarios where she’d show it to strangers.

“She was here ten minutes ago,” said the droid in a chirpy tone. “She’s quite popular and she’ll likely not want to see you now, but if it’s urgent-”

“It is,” Din seethed.

“Then take the elevator to sub level eight.”

He rushed back to the elevator and glanced at the directory, where he found it was one of the floors occupied by the hotel in this building. That, the droid’s words, the other voice he’d heard over the commlink… How long had this been going on?

The Child stirred beneath his cape, but didn’t wake, and Din calmed himself. The doors opened and he stepped into the hallway, rooms to both his left and right that made a complete circle on this floor.

He turned on his thermal tracking and found a faint trail of two sets of footprints leading left and a stronger trail leading right. He turned left, keeping his thermal vision on and trying to tune his hearing. The rooms were mostly empty, and the ones that were filled didn’t have the woman he was looking for. As he approached an alcove, he saw and heard three figures arguing in hushed tones. Slowing down his steps, he switched off his vision but kept his hearing enhanced until he was just outside the entrance to the alcove.

“-have to explain this. Yes there’s a relatively discounted rate when you go from half an hour to an hour, but there are no discounts for a larger number of participants.” It was Silla’s voice, low and full of that dark honey she’d had that night, but also venomous as she spoke to her two would-be customers.

“C’mon, with the two of us you’d have more fun,” one of them whined. “Can you really not-”

“No, I cannot,” she stated. “Both of you for one hour is one thousand flan. If you can’t afford it, one of you can leave, you can pick half an hour, or I can walk.”

“Who the hell are you to talk down to us?” said a gruffer voice, and Din heard a scuffle and decided he’d heard enough. “You’re just a-”

“Hey!”

The three of them turned. Two men, one human and one Zabrak, looked annoyed while Silla’s mouth fell open, and she tilted her chin down as she saw the Child’s signature on Din’s chest. Her white hair, pinned into a messy bun, shined even in the low light. The human had grabbed her shoulder, and when he didn’t move his hand, Din found his voice and said, “Lilia, if these two are going to bargain, it’s not worth it,” he said, stepping towards her. “Let’s go back.”

“Holy shit,” said the Zabrak. “Mandos are getting work as pimps now?”

“Not my pimp, he’s my bodyguard,” Silla huffed in exasperation. “I check in with him when the countdown starts, but since you two spent so much time trying to bargain, he came to check in on me.” Slapping the man’s hand off, she walked towards Din. “I’m not so desperate for money that you can get me to agree to such an insulting offer. Goodbye.” She slipped a hand around Din’s arm and he all but yanked her out of the alcove.

“Wait! We’ll do half an hour, both of us,” said the human, and Din reached up to squeeze her hand with his, silently begging her not to take it.

“Sorry, but you have no manners,” she said, and once they were out of sight and sure they were not being followed, Silla pulled her hood up and whispered, “Is the Child okay?”

“Yeah, fell asleep before I got to the building,” said Din.

“My hovercraft is parked in the deck next to this building,” she said.

“Alright.”

* * *

They both kept an eye out for anyone who might follow them back to the hangar. Once they got on her hovercraft, the Mandalorian insisted on driving it to get back to the hangar as quickly as possible. Silla maintained lookout duty, periodically scanning their surroundings for any flecks of red that pursued them.

Anything to avoid looking at the boiling energy in her captain.

The rest of the trip back to the hangar was made in silence, and no sooner had they arrived in shelter did it start raining outside. After they’re locked inside the ship, Din moved to take off the carrier, and the Child woke. He wasn’t crying, just grumpy and fussy at having his sleep interrupted, so Din took off his right pauldron and paced around the lower deck with the Child resting on his shoulder. Silla took this time to organiz her hovercraft and clean up the ship, as Din had left a small mess in his rush to find her.

Soon, the Child was back to sleep, and Din gently set him in the pod and closed it. He stood still and looked at Silla, his energy having calmed down from earlier, but was still running wildly enough to concern her. Then, the moment was gone, and he climbed the ladder and went to the cockpit.

Not wanting this to fester any longer, Silla followed him.

She found him in his seat, facing the console and consciously controlling his breathing, his pulse still elevated. “Mandalorian,” she said, hand in her pocket and wrapped around a few small discs of flan. “I’m sorry for causing you worry. Thank you for helping me.” She reached out to give him his cut, but he spun in his chair and caught her hand, squeezing to keep it closed.

His energy started to boil again as he stood up and pushed her hand back towards her body. “How long?” he asked. “How long, _Lilia_?” He hissed the pseudonym as if it caused him physical pain.

Evasive answers would only anger him further. “Since you told me about the bodyguard job.” She stayed quiet, waiting for him to follow up with another question. At this silence, she tried again to push an open hand towards him, only for him to renew his grip and push back.

“Why?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “I made enough during my job as a bodyguard. You didn’t have to do this. You do more than enough as a healer, as the Child’s caretaker, as-”

“I wanted to do everything I could,” she said. “It’s not often that I get to stay in a place like this one: relatively safe, enough people with deep pockets, a few quiet corners for anonymity.” She brought up her left hand to cover the one he had gripping her right. “I’ve seen what the stress around money does to one’s health, so I wanted to amass as much as I could. I’ve done this before, and I know how to keep myself safe, in both senses of the word. Please, Mandalorian, let me help you.”

His grip relaxed only a little, and she could hear him taking deep breaths through his helmet. “Would you have taken that job,” he asked, “if I hadn’t arrived?”

“Maybe,” she admitted. “Six hundred flan for thirty minutes is still six hundred flan, even if the clients are idiots.”

The Mandalorian sighed, finally relaxing his grip on her hands, and he let her place the discs in his palm. Once he’d pocketed them, he reached up to gently grab both her wrists. “It’s not safe anymore. Lilia’s been seen with a Mandalorian, and eventually-”

“I understand,” Silla said, smiling sadly. “I’ll stay with you- with you both on the Razor Crest until the heat dies down. I’m sure the Child will be delighted at all the extra attention.”

“Yeah,” said Din, dropping her wrists and sitting back in the chair, turning to face the console again.

Silla furrowed her brow. Despite his posture, there was still a disturbance in his energy. “Mandalorian, there’s something else,” she said, and he turned back around to face her. “Your energy, it’s buzzing. What else is bothering you?” Out of habit, she reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and the Mandalorian’s pulse _jumped_.

They both froze, Silla at what she’d just learned, and the Mandalorian soon realizing it. They both stared at each other like that, Silla noting his rapid pulse and his lack of breath, until finally she said, “Ah, so that’s it.” The Mandalorian sucked in a breath and Silla had to stop herself from taking a step. She took a deep breath, ducking her head and her hands folded in front of her while she worked up the nerve. It was the topic they’d avoided for too long. “Mandalorian,” she finally said, raising her head and letting her hands fall, “the offer I made that night has remained standing. I’m right here if you so desire.” She looked where she thought his eyes might be, noting again that he was holding his breath. After an eternity of silence, she sighed. “It seems it will always be ‘no’ then,” she said, turning to open the door. “Then let us never speak of this-”

A hand shot out and seized her wrist, and Silla didn’t resist when the Mandalorian pulled her into his lap. His arms locked around her, and she gasped when her chest pressed against his beskar. “Sorry,” he muttered, his arms shaking as his hands clawed around her waist and shoulder. Silla groaned and placed her hands firmly on his shoulders so she could adjust herself so that she was straddling his thigh, hissing at how the guard pressed against her, and her head could lay on his shoulder.

They just lay there like that for a while, catching their breath. Keeping one hand on his shoulder, Silla let the other drift down and settle on his chest plate. As she tapped out a light rhythm, the Mandalorian moved the hand that was on her shoulder to her hair. He paused as he touched the pin, and Silla nodded. Removing it, the Mandalorian let her hair come unbound, and his sigh as he ran a gloved hand through the strands filled Silla with warmth.

He was taking so much sweet time with her that for a fleeting moment, she felt loved.

Sighing happily, she pressed herself closer to him, stilling her hand. “What would you like me to do?”

He ran his hand through her hair a few more times, then swivelled the chair around to press a few buttons on the console. There was a whir, and he explained, “Covering the windows.” She gave a small huff of laughter and nuzzled into his shoulder, returning to tapping a rhythm on his chest plate, this time accompanied by a soft hum. The Mandalorian reached down and undid his belt, then a zipper, and when the whirring stopped, he gently grabbed her hand and guided it down, his breathing shallow.

She felt how hot and hard he was even through the cloth, and with just a firm press she earned a hiss. Her own hands were still too cool, so she rubbed and squeezed him from the outside, sometimes running a fingertip around the tip, and every pant and moan he made sent heat to her own body.

At last, when her own hand was warm enough, she slipped it under to finally feel his cock. It was damp and warm, so warm, and when she gave the tip an experimental squeeze it twitched and the Mandalorian let out a hiss sharper than all the ones before. Her thumb traced circles around his slit as the rest of her fingers slowly squeezed the rest of his length. Silla turned her head so she could see which of her movements gave him the greatest pleasure, slowly working up the spit in her mouth, and just when she settled into a familiar rhythm, she squeezed him hard.

He gasped, almost sounding like he’d choked, and while he caught his breath Silla spat in her hand. When she resumed her movements, wetter and faster, the Mandalorian threw his head back and moaned, his gloved fingers digging into her back. His moans and the slick sounds her hand made sent heat rushing down her own body, and she ground herself against his thigh guard and her free hand went to squeeze her still-clothed breast. It wouldn’t be enough, not nearly enough, but it helped relieve the ache, and the knee that was inside his lap began grinding against her hand.

She didn’t need to see the Mandalorian’s energy when his moans and his writhing told her he was close. Licking her lips, she leaned as close to his helmet as she could and gave him a push. “There were times, when I thought I wouldn’t be able to endure it,” she said, her voice low and breathy. “And when it was like that… I thought of you.” He sucked in a breath and she smiled, “I thought of your fingers in my mouth, your cock between my breasts…” she sighed. “Your tongue on my dripping wet cunt.” She felt the bruises forming as the arms around her shook violently as his breathing became ragged, his moans hoarse. “I almost called out for you once. Thank goodness the word ‘mercy’ so easily covers it, Mando. Oh Mando, Mando, Mando…”

His breathing stopped for a moment before a strangled gasp burst out of him along with his climax, as she felt it coating her fingers and making her movements even sloppier. He clung to her as she squeezed him for everything he had, every pant sending a shiver through his body, and it felt as if the pleasure would never, ever end. At last, he got soft, but even then, she had one more trick to play, as she brought her hand up to her mouth, in front of his visor, and licked it clean.

“Stars…” he groaned, and Silla smiled.

* * *

She cleaned him up with a towel she’d kept in her robes, and when he sheepishly pointed out that some had gotten on her sleeve and thigh, she shrugged and said, “What’s a few more in the laundry?” Now, she was once again sitting in his lap, her arms around him as she lay her head on his shoulders. The feeling crept back into his limbs, and he raised his hands to settle on her back, returning her embrace with a loose one of his own.

“Silla.”

“Yes?”

“You said for many, sex is as important as food, water, and sleep.”

“I did say that. I believe it.”

“What about you?”

She froze, her arms going stiff in their embrace around his shoulders. “What?”

“Is there anything you need or want?” he asked, one hand tracing a line between her shoulder blades and the other drifting to the small of her back to make small circles. “Anything I can do for you?”

She shivered at his touch, but didn’t pull away. “You’re not a healer.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

She stayed silent, but Din possessed the patience required for his line of work, and so he let the silence continue to stretch. Finally, she sat up in his lap so they were face to face, her hands drifting down his arms until they settled in his gloved palms. She gave them a light squeeze, then whispered, "Would you be able to touch me with your bare hands?"

"Yes," he answered, and she gave a light tug on the fingertip so he obliged her and took one off. If not for his exhaustion the way she ran her fingers over his hands might’ve made him hard again. She ran her thumb over his fingernails and her mouth quirked into a smile. “Thank you, but not tonight,” she leaned over and kissed his helmet right above the visor. “You’re exhausted, and these could use a trim.”

He couldn’t stop the snort that left his nose, and she laughed in return. “Now that we’re both lying low on this ship, I think we’ll have plenty of time,” she said, then got up to use the refresher and change her clothes.

Later that night, after he’d done the same and descended the ladder, he found her sleeping in her hammock. Nonetheless, when he got a nail clipper and the first click sounded throughout the cabin, he could’ve sworn he heard her giggle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a short, straightforward chapter and then I made the mistake of giving Stone and Maru personalities.
> 
> "Being alone together" is based off of something my husband told me he missed when we were in a long-distance relationship.


End file.
